Dark Duck 10 - The Greatest Heist There Never Was
by VAPX007
Summary: Steelbeak has to make a comeback and he finds help from a very unlikely source. Launchpad has a super busy week and The Quiverwing Quack steps up to save the day.
1. Ch1 P1 The Nightmare

_Disclaimer: Thank you, Disney team, for Darkwing Duck. _

_Thank you again, little sister mine, for the giant comic book those few Christmases ago._ _Far away from across the ocean and the stretches of time, Darkwing, Launchpad, Gosalyn and Steelbeak came today and brought a little joy back into my life._

 _Thank you, my dearest reader for reading._ _May your vampires always be scary and your endings always be happy._

* * *

 **DARK DUCK**

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 **Part 1**

* * *

 _The cold blue electric light of the air ship's control room coloured Steelbeak's vision. His heart was pounding in his chest. Not again ... not here ... again._

 _Far away across the distance of the room, the set of double doors with their circular windows stood closed. The doors led to the rest of the air ship, Steelbeak could feel it. Motivated to escape to freedom, Steelbeak raced towards the doors. After what seemed like ages, he got to them. Sweating, he tried the handle. They wouldn't budge. Desperately he pulled, twisted, pushed, and pulled again._

 _"No! Let me outta here!" He shrieked in terror, realising he wasn't getting out of this place._

 _Gasping for breath from his fit of trapped panic Steelbeak leaned against the unyielding doors and looked back at the room. The doors had never opened to him before. Why start now?_

 _Three eggmen in their white, yellow and red uniforms were standing in a line watching him. They were waiting for him to do his job. As though telling him what that job was, the control panel swam into Steelbeak's view. The control panel was an array of switches, dials and knobs in grotesque distortion._

 _"Too late for getting scared, Steelbeak." He heard his own voice chiding him. "You're 'the guy'. Just like you always wanted to be."  
_ _"Please, leave me alone." Steelbeak whimpered. "I give up. I surrender." He begged. "Take me away, lock me up; just leave me alone. Please."  
_ _"Check your ticket, Steelbeak." He heard the sound of his own laughter echoing off the metallic walls. "You've gotten on the wrong train." His voice chortled back at him._

 _"I'm dreaming." Steelbeak looked up at the closed skylight. "I already learnt this lesson!" He yelled up at the daylight beyond the shutters. "I gotta wake up! I need to wake up, how do I wake up? Wake up!" Nothing changed and he looked back at the faces of the three silent eggmen. "Please." He directed his plea to them now, "Leave me alone. Please."_

 _An idea flashed through Steelbeak's mind. "Maybe!" He gasped, "Maybe I can change it. If I can get that skylight open fast enough this time. Just maybe!"_

 _He raced to the control panel but before he could reach the switch, he heard the words he'd heard before._

 _"I've got old fashioned chicken soup dinner on the menu."  
_

 _With a shriek of fear, Steelbeak flicked the skylight switch and then spun around to watch it open. It was useless though; the machine didn't co-operate fast enough. "Come on, hurry up!" The shutters were so slow it was painful. "Oh, no." He sobbed, desperately looking up at the sluggish shutters. "Please no. Not again."_

 _The vampire eggman dodged the light beam and kept his tail feathers smartly in the shadows. "Seeing you like this, I've got you figured, Steelbeak."_

 _"Eggmen, stop him." Steelbeak directed the two other Eggmen even though he already knew they wouldn't move. They stayed standing side by side a few metres away and to the side of the room._

 _"I don't wanna get bitten." The first shorter one said plaintively.  
_ _"Me neither."  
_ _"Yeah, we saw what happened to those guys."_

 _"Why me? Why now?" Steelbeak felt exasperated. "Of all the eggmen to get cooped up with it has to be two with brains?"  
_ _"The odds are such." His other voice answereed him, "After all we' been through. There's smart and then there's dead."  
_ _"Oh yeah," Steelbeak gazed in defeat at the two unmoving eggmen as his disembodied voice laughed again as though this were some huge joke._

 ** _"A sun beam. Great idea."_** _The dark ominous voice of Darkwing Duck bounced off the walls, making the air in the room thick despite the bright sunlight streaming squarely into the centre._

 _"Yikes!" Steelbeak yelped and frantically looked for another switch on the control panel. "Anti-Darkwing, anti-Darkwing! Oh, no-no-no no-no-oo!"_

 ** _"I am the terror that flaps in the night."_**

 _"It's not night over here." One eggman said.  
_ _"Yeah, go take a nap, Dorkwing." The other added._

 _At this moment, Steelbeak noticed on the dashboard a large red button under a glass case saying 'self-destruct'. Steelbeak flipped open the lid and pushed on it but it wouldn't go down. He rammed his fist down on it and yet it wouldn't budge._

 _"But they say Quack Quong city never sleeps?" The first eggman countered._

 _Steelbeak turned around. He looked acidly at the two non-vampire eggmen. "Stop flapping your beaks you two and let me handle the witty retorts!" He snapped. "What? Do I gotta start remembering your names or something? Well I don't know your names, alright? Am I gonna ask? No! Why? Coz I don't care is why!"_

 _"Ahem?" The vampire eggman interrupted them all, tapping his foot for attention._

 _Steelbeak shot another acidic look over at the vampire eggman, who took another step towards him. "You ain't it." Steelbeak said in exasperation. "I ain't scared of you." He challenged the vampire eggman. "You don't know it yet but you're just dust like all of the rest."_

 _ **"I am the rubber band that snaps back at you."** Darkwing's voice rang through again, making Steelbeak back away to the control panel to look again for an anti-Darkwing device in case he'd missed it the first time._

 _The vampire eggman looked up at the ceiling and snarled with the voice of a wild animal. "We know: you're Darkwing Duck!"_

 _ **"And you're history."** Darkwing appeared out of the shadow and web-kicked the vampire eggman in the stomach. The last vampire eggman stumbled back into the light beam and disintegrated._

 _Unable to help himself, Steelbeak repeated his weak supplication. "Gosh you saved me ... maybe I had you wrong, after all, Darkwing-."_

 _The mallard shape twisted about to face Steelbeak, his black cape swirling behind him. Short as he was the vampire loomed, his voice was as dark and forbidding as any graveyard shadow. **"You've wilfully killed hundreds of your own men."**_

 _"That was damage control," Steelbeak babbled, scrabbled for some sort of alliance, "you know about that-you even agree about that. It was spreading, it was outta control, it was dangerous ... a menace to society ..."_

 _Helpless, Steelbeak watched Darkwing smoothly skirting his way around the square of light towards Steelbeak._

 _"B-but that's in the past." Steelbeak gulped. Darkwing's eyes were glowing a bright, freakish blue._

 _ **"Okay, let's think about the future."** Darkwing paused for a moment._

 _"Tell me; just tell me what I gotta do. Please." Steelbeak begged hurriedly. "Anything. Whatever it is. You only gotta say."_

 _ **"I've thought about it."** Darkwing reported and took a step past Steelbeak. The vampire slammed his fist down on the skylight switch and the shutters closed._

 _"Please, no, please, anything!" Steelbeak tried desperately as the warm daylight faded back to the cool electric blue of the control room, "I'd do anything you want!"_

 _The vampire mallard drew his cloak up around his face and twisted to face Steelbeak. With a snarl, he flicked back his cape, sharp teeth in his beak and a hungry gleam in his eyes. **"I'm still going to eat you!"**_

* * *

"Ack!"

Steelbeak sat up with a bolt of fear, his eardrums ringing with the sound of his own terrified shriek. His heart continued to pound. The world still glowed a terrible blue. "No! No-no no!"

He gasped for breath as his brain caught up with his surroundings. This blue was far darker; more black than white. He turned his head to where the light was coming from and saw a high up floodlight shining down through his cellblock window. It was just a regular old floodlight outside. The blue tinge still had him nervous but Steelbeak was awake enough now to rationalise it all. The cool white light shone in through the bars of the window and cast the cement cell into a blue gloom. He was facing the interior bars and the brick wall with the adjacent cell was beside his bed on his left side. The outside wall was behind his head and the window was one step to the right.

It was just a floodlight and it was just a prison cell.

And if he was in jail then it had to mean he was still alive and reasonably safe.

With the reality that he was on his bunk in his prison cell firming in his mind, Steelbeak sank back onto his bed with relief. At least here, surely, he would get a bit of shut-eye? He looked at the bars of the door. He didn't like the idea of staying cooped up in the pen and he liked the idea of being back in St Canard even less. But at least there was no Darkwing Duck in here. He lay back onto his pillow and closed his eyes.

Not so long as Steelbeak was in jail would Darkwing Duck come for him.

Not in here.


	2. Ch1 P2 Intervention with a Vampire

_A/n: Hannah Barbara doing ye olde El Zorro shtick. Man, that guitar really stole the show, didn't it?_

* * *

 **DARK** **DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 **Part 2**

* * *

 **Intervention** **with a Vampire**

* * *

It was early evening up at Darkwing Tower and Launchpad was giving the ThunderQuack's engine a check up. By the time he was finished, inside the bonnet of the flyer would look just as sparkly clean as the maroon coloured outside. Visualising the result cheered on his enthusiasm for his task. He grabbed the bottle of degreaser and started shaking it. "Stand back, everyone, and prepare to be amazed." He aimed the nozzle and the can unexpectedly growled. "What the?" Launchpad stopped and looked at the can.

From across the tower Launchpad heard another low growl. The growl sounded distinctly like there was a vicious animal lurking in the tower with him. For a moment, Launchpad was back in the past. He was trekking through the wild jungle looking for treasure as Scrooge McDuck's pilot and assistant; his heart pounding as his mind raced figuring out exactly how to get off the large predator's menu.

 _'Quackeroonie!' A little duckling's voice echoed in his memories._ _  
 _'That was amazing, Launchpad!'_  
 _'You got here just in the nick of time.'_  
 _'Aye, I don't know how ye' did it, Launchpad, but I thank ye.'__

Then Launchpad remembered he was at Darkwing Tower in St Canard and it was no wild jungle beast loose up here; it was DW.

Launchpad swallowed, gazing unseeingly into the depths of the ThunderQuack's engine. The memory of the jungle was vibrant in Launchpad's mind, hearing the unhappy growl of a large carnivorous animal.

 _'Approach with caution ... better yet, back away slowly and don't go anywhere near it.'_

The second notion wasn't an option when it came to helping his friend.

Sometimes helping the crime fighter turned vampire was a bit like helping an old sabre tooth tiger with a thorn stuck in its paw. As a duck, DW's temper was only reasonable at the best of times. As a vampire now ... well, it was Launchpad's job to help his friend regardless of what species he'd become. 'Steady, LP.' He told himself, 'DW needs you'.

It wasn't a moment before Launchpad dropped the can back into his toolbox. The air ace stepped clear of the ThunderQuack to check on what his friend was up to.

Darkwing was still at his desk across the tower where Launchpad had left him before. The masked mallard was reading the training manual that had come in the mail a week ago. But now DW was rigid and tense. He sat on the edge of his seat, a tight grip of the corners of the book. Launchpad could practically feel the heat of his friend's fury from here. It seemed like Darkwing was about to go up in smoke. 'A bit too literally this time', Launchpad thought worriedly and held his position.

DW turned the page of the book on the table in front of him.

"No ..." DW growled again, jumping up onto the chair with an outraged protest, leaving the book on the table. "Ridiculous." He reread the page from his standing position. "Absolutely not!" He snatched at the offending page, ripped it savagely from the book, scrunched it up into a ball and then threw it in the wastepaper bin beside him in disgust. **"I am Darkwing Duck!"**

Disposing of the offending page wasn't enough to rid himself of the confrontation, however, so Darkwing snatched up the book and tossed it clear across the tower over in Launchpad's direction.  
"Yikes!" Launchpad instinctively ducked as the black hardcover book whizzed over his head, rebound from the wall and hit the floor a few metres away from his toolkit.

He looked back and saw DW storming off out of sight to the other side of the tower.

Launchpad went back and collected the unfortunate book. DW loved his books. All his books; except for this one. The spine had extra gaffe tape on it due to the inordinate amount of back bending. Launchpad tried to close the cover but it proved a fruitless task and sprung back open. Some of the pages were crinkled and stained the colour of cocoa. Some were dog-eared and most of the pages were further creased and curled after so many unhappy landings. A mere week in DW's possession and it was now a scuffed and tattered wreck. It made Gosalyn's scorched and water damaged History book look just 'well-travelled'.

'Time for damage control duty, LP.' Launchpad crossed the tower, knowing exactly where to find DW: in the kitchenette. He went in and found Darkwing staring at an empty bottle of super juice in his hands.

"S'everything alright, DW?" Launchpad asked cautiously.  
"I don't get it, LP!" Darkwing said exasperated and turned. "Why did I have to get turned into a stupid-?" His eyes fell on the book Launchpad had brought over. His beak twitched in contempt. "Get that rotten thing away from me, Launchpad!" He gritted.  
"You know, DW", Launchpad said gently, "I reckon this book crashes more often than I do."

"And that's saying something." Darkwing snorted, finding a trace of humour in Launchpad's comment.

Launchpad relaxed a little, knowing he'd made a start on breaking Darkwing's bad mood.

"Not what you call an easy read, huh?"  
"An unpalatable level of prudish pernickety is poured out on the pages with the consistency of yesterday's porridge."  
"Ewww." Launchpad was mildly grossed out, "Isn't that the kind of stuff you would write, DW?"

"That's poesy, Launchpad, not prose so thick and dry you can stand a spoon in it!"

"Hey, DW," Launchpad skipped over the argument with a shrug, instinctively finding which words he needed to use next. "You wanna borrow my Quickdraw McGraw and the Moxie Martians comic?" He grinned, reminiscing on his favourite parts. "I'd be glad to lend it to you. It's guaranteed to cheer you up."  
"No, thank you, Launchpad..." Darkwing sighed as he turned back to the sink. He rinsed out the glass bottle and put it in the recycling box. "I've got to keep reading this manual."

"It's for your own good, DW." Launchpad now offered the tattered book back to his friend.  
"For my own good, yeah..." Darkwing's face twisted in disgusted contempt again as his eyes focused on the black hardcover book in Launchpad's outstretched hands. "On second thoughts I wouldn't mind borrowing your Martian book sometime." He took the mangled thing back. "I could do with something light-hearted for a change."

"Oh, sure, DW, you'll like it. It's full of derring-do."  
Darkwing smiled like the calm after the storm. "Sounds just like someone I know."  
"Really! Who?" Launchpad asked in excitement.  
"You, of course, you knucklehead!" Darkwing huffed with a fond smirk. "They should have had 'your' name on the cover of Duckly magazine, not Gizmoduck's. You've stopped more criminals than he has."  
"Gee, DW, I don't mind." Launchpad blushed at the unexpected compliment. "We're all on the same side after all."

Darkwing paused, considering this, his dark mood gathering again. "But wouldn't it be nice for people to at least say 'thank you' just for a change?"  
"Sure, but I already know they're grateful." Launchpad answered easily, "I don't really need to hear that 'thank you' all the time. It's nice and it brightens my day, but I always remember back to all the thanks I have gotten over the years and those are the ones that keep me going."

DW's shoulders slumped and he looked back down at his puffed up book in his hands. "When you put it like that it doesn't sound like the end of the world. You know; nobody ever knowing who you are. Nobody recognises the good we do. Because I'm just nobody myself."

Launchpad frowned slightly, lost in what DW was only half-telling him; "You're not just any nobody, DW; you're Darkwing Duck."  
Darkwing half-closed an eye at Launchpad as if he'd said something slightly off. "Er, thanks, Launchpad ... I think."  
"Heh, anytime, DW. I just wish I could help you read your book for you." He commiserated, "But it's your battle and you know I'm here for you, buddy. Any time you wanna talk about it. I got your back."

"Yeah." Darkwing turned away. "Thanks, Launchpad." He paused. "And I mean that. For everything. Thanks."

DW walked back to his desk. Launchpad watched from the distance as Darkwing reached into the waste paper bin and retrieved the scrunched up page back. He spent a moment, smoothing it back out on the table.

'I'm always right here for you, buddy.' Launchpad repeated mentally, willing to add his strength to his friend's.

When DW started rummaging through the desk drawer, probably for some sticky tape to fix the page back into the book, Launchpad decided DW was feeling genuinely saner for the moment. Happy again, Launchpad returned his attention to the ThunderQuack and left his friend to repair the book in peace. He picked up the can of degreaser from the toolkit.

"Stand back, everyone, and prepare to be amazed." He grinned to himself as he shook the can in excitement.


	3. Ch1 P3 The Visitor

_A/n: If writing were like poker, 'mucking your hand' would be kind of like saying 'I wrote a story but it's not as good as yours' then throwing it away before anyone gets a chance to read it and find out if your statement is true._

* * *

 **DARK** **DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 **Part 3**

* * *

 **The Visitor**

* * *

"Steelbeak! Wake up, Steelbeak! It's time to go."

Someone was poking him in the side with a stick.

"Steelbeak. What is the matter with you?" Another voice repeated from elsewhere in the room.

Steelbeak realised people were calling him and woke up on account of it. "Huh?" He looked up at the two prison guards standing over him as he sat up. "What's your matter?"  
"Rise and shine, sleepin' beauty, time to get up." The guard who'd been prodding him with his baton took a step back.

"I just got in here." He blinked wearily at the guard and the warden further off, "What: you mean getting back to crummy St Canard ain't enough for you? Now I got to show up for the jail party too?"  
"You've got a visitor. Time for a trip."  
"Who?" Steelbeak's heart started pounding in his chest. 'Please not now. Not yet. I ain't ready.'  
"Oh, but we wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, would we? We all know how much 'you' love surprises." The warden grinned savagely.

"Come on; shake the lead out." The prison guard that had been poking him demanded. "Before I drag you out by your head feathers."

Steelbeak clenched his fists and let the smartass warden have his laugh. Normally he would have a good retort but right now the lack of sleep had gotten to him pretty bad. Plus whoever his visitor was, if he was going to deal with them professional like he needed to do some quick mental refocusing. Steelbeak stood up and walked out. "Yeah, whatever you reckon there."

The warden opened and closed each door behind them as they went. "Since you've been back from Quack Quong, you've been carrying on like the walking dead, Steelbeak."  
"Dead, yea-ah, real funny." Steelbeak rolled his eyes. "And so you're what passes for the brains of this here outfit."  
"Oh, no, Steelbeak." The warden countered like the cheery little weasel he was as he moved for the lock on the next door. "Not at all, not a bit. At least not in your special case."

* * *

Steelbeak went through the double doors into the empty mess hall and saw his visitor alone at one of the dining tables. "Hey, it's old Hooter!" He smiled in relief at the short stuffy guy in grey business wear with the fancy old specks and matching wristwatch. Sure he didn't look like much now but if this was fifteen years ago he'd be dressed in khaki and laying down some serious whammy on F.O.W.L. et al. Once upon a time this had been the one agent left standing in a settling cloud of debris. Spectacular had its own heading in this guy's resume.

"Hello, Agent Steelbeak."  
"To what do I owe this prestigious visitation?"  
"Perhaps if you care to take a seat." The sojourn into recollections of Hooter's illustrious profile was over.

As he sat down opposite S.H.U.S.H. Director J Gander Hooter, Steelbeak wondered if he might be imagining the edge of foreboding in Hooter's explicitly polite voice. In either case it was real subtle. "Ah, you always did play a classic game of poker, Hooter."  
Hooter blinked at him. "A fond game we have in common, Agent Steelbeak. And to use your terminology, I am more-than-usually keen on seeing your mucked hand."

"Ain't it Griz's job to shake me down for info?"  
Hooter cleared his throat "Indeed, however this is no usual matter. That is assuming, of course, that we could ever refer to your employers as anything in the remote category of being usual."  
"Hey, you piqued my curiosity." Steelbeak felt pretty steady with knowing his visitor inside out at least. "I've had a lot of mucked hands in my time, but I cain't think what you might be after if it ain't F.O.W.L., on account'a the fact' I don't do a lot on the sly."

"It's regarding your most recent escapade."

"Not that!" His heart jolted in his chest. Steelbeak reeled back in his chair, staring in horror at Hooter. His mind raced straight back to that nerve-wracking night. The memory of it shook him to the core. It stalked him through his nightmares and tortured him through his daydreams. "I made a statement." He said hoarsely.

"I've read your statement, Agent Steelbeak-."  
"Then this here's gonna be a short visit coz I ain't got nothing more I wanna add!" Steelbeak answered sharply.  
"-But it only raised more questions than it answered."  
"I had enough of this here nightmare and I want to move on! Cain't you appreciate that?"

Unfortunately Steelbeak's voice was tense and sounded like a panicked plea for help rather than the 'scram, Jack' he was going for.

"Hmm..." The old bird gazed at him, his slate grey eyes scrutinizing him for a long moment. "You do not need my help in the 'nightmare' department; that much is apparent." Hooter was obviously disappointed with his conclusion because he sighed and looked down at his paperwork.

Hearing his own voice just now, Steelbeak felt a swell of disgust with himself. 'Me: the weak and snivelling failure? Me: the underdog? No way!'

"Yeah, well, I ain't had a decent night's sleep in weeks so what do you expect?" Steelbeak argued himself back over to the shrunken sanity corner of his sleep-deprived brain. "And I ain't over me jet lag yet."

Hooter nodded slowly. The level of understanding in his serious eyes made Steelbeak flinch. There was not a chance that this old owl was stupid enough to be even half convinced that the problem was an open and shut case of jet lag. All Steelbeak could do was blame his tiredness for not thinking up a more convincing answer.

"We are rational fellows, you and I, Agent Steelbeak." Hooter stated. "To us, we find it a trifling superfluity to muse on arising emotions rather than concerning ourselves with the reality of the task at hand. The matter that begot these emotions in the first place is what we should devote our attention to."  
"That sure is true enough." Steelbeak searched Hooter's poker face. "I got that lesson drummed into me from my folks."  
"And I assume you indeed learnt the lesson." Hooter replied in his even tone; historically a tough nut himself. "And I hope you can apply your lesson now in the interest of your own personal wellbeing which is, most certainly, the first instance that it should be applied in anyone's case."

"You want me to think about me?" Steelbeak quirked an eyebrow. It was certainly the weirdest thing any white cap had said to him. In fact, he didn't recall anybody ever saying that to him his whole life. "So what's what you want got to do with my personal tail feathers?"  
"In this particular instance, Agent Steelbeak, I wish to specifically discuss with you the undue force used upon your person in the case of your arrest."  
"Ack!" Steelbeak's eyes flew open. "What?"  
"Undue force," Hooter repeated firmly. "You've surely heard the term before?"

Steelbeak felt he was breaking out in a cold sweat. His heart pounded in his chest as blue-tinged memories threatened to swamp him. The control room, the closed skylight... "I ...!" He found his voice in a squawk so he cleared his throat. "I-I dunno what you're on about! Sorry." He gulped, feeling his hands shaking and he folded his arms across his chest. What a sore point this old geyser was poking, get lost! On the matter of personal wellbeing Steelbeak would give anything to not have this guy here right now.

"Agent Steelbeak, I have collected three reports on you since your arrest; one from the Quack Quong police, one from your extradition squad's leader, and one from your prison warden here."  
"They didn't waste no time."  
"They're concerned. The reports all say the same thing. Your behaviour of late has been bizarre. You are constantly restless in your sleep and then you spend your whole day in and out of fits of lethargy. They rate your level of participation in prison life as practically nonexistent; it's as though your mind is somewhere else. This is wholly atypical for you. And the fact is that it has come to my notice."

Steelbeak didn't know why but the appraisal all his jailors had given on him really stung. "Geez, you blues really know how to gang up on a guy."

"Agent Steelbeak, it is not 'we' who do the ganging up, as it were, it is merely the facts that stack undeniably together. As is the case in point, if we were truly ganging up on you I should hope you would be selfish enough to say so."

Steelbeak worked his tongue. "I told you I just got jet lag. I been to Quack Quong and back; of course I ain't been right in the head department."

"Agent Steelbeak, I feel the need to remind you of who exactly you are attempting to con at this present moment." Hooter admonished him in a severe tone. "You cannot simply cloud my mind with red herring details as you might with a less experienced investigator. I want to know exactly what it is that's preoccupying you and on this objective I shall not budge."

"You ought'a go." Steelbeak muttered unhappily. "You don't got all day to hear me weep."

Hooter sat back in his chair with a look like he was gathering his patience. "Very well, Agent. Perhaps we should continue our discussion at a later time. With any luck you might find some rest of your own accord."  
"Thanks."  
"Before I leave, might I ask how you're finding your current accommodation compared to the one in Quack Quong?"  
Steelbeak shrugged. "Could do with a little less of them blue floodlights."  
Hooter paused. "The penitentiary yard lights are all plain regulation white."

"No, they ain't!" Steelbeak argued, "There's no such thing as plain white bulbs so they just cain't be." Steelbeak asserted. "You only got your cool white and your warm white. Warm white makes stuff yellow. Cool white turns everything blue." Steelbeak felt his feathers prickling.

Hooter gazed at Steelbeak as he closed his folder. "Do try to get some rest, Agent."


	4. Ch1 P4 Grand Schemes

_A/n: I'm giving out_ _free plot bunnies today. Want one?_

* * *

 **DARK** **DUCK** **10**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 **Part 4**

* * *

 **Grand Schemes**

* * *

Gosalyn and Honker filed inside the glass double doors of their sand coloured brick school. Science was up for a double period and while Gosalyn ordinarily disagreed with the double period principle, she didn't mind science for two hours because Mister Quill used the double for practical work.

Stenzil sat beside Guyru and Millicent in the front row. Gosalyn never sat in front of kids she classed as vultures so she and Honker took up the last couple of seats behind Patty and Sandra Sue.

There were other drawbacks to sitting behind them, though.

"He's so cute."  
"Oh, he is so cute."  
"And he plays football." Pamela, Sandra Sue and Patty were sitting in the centre of the room making bug eyes at the new boy Ulrich Dogsworth sitting beside McGain and talking about football on the other end of Gosalyn's row.  
"Football? Real mature, you sissies," Gosalyn hissed quietly, rolling her eyes.  
Pamela turned around, "Oh, if it isn't miss Panda?"  
Gosalyn rolled her eyes again; "Padawan, you dweeb-bird; it means young Jedi in training. And that isn't an insult it's an honour."

"Whatever. You're still a freak." Pamela turned back to the front.  
"Could be worse; I could be you." Gosalyn snarked, "You should really choose insults that your limited intelligence can comprehend."  
Patty turned back to her again, "alright, so here's one." Patty smiled evilly. "Have you ever been on a date with a boy?"  
Gosalyn folded her arms. "I'm ten years old."

Now all three girls had turned around to jeer at Gosalyn.  
"Face it, Gosalyn. No boy is ever going to date you."  
"Unlike you puny-minded mortals I've got bigger fish to fry." Gosalyn retorted.

The teacher stepped into the room and Gosalyn leaned back against her chair. Quill started writing on the board.

"Bet you she can't land a date."  
"Bet you she can't either."  
"No boy would want to go out with 'her'."  
"She's not a real girl."  
"Boys only want to date real girls. Not her."

Gosalyn felt the feathers prickling at the back of her neck and she clenched her pencil.  
"Don't listen to them, Gos." Honker said quietly beside her. "You were perfectly right in the first place. We're only ten."  
"It's not like I'm not trying to ignore them right now, Honker." Gosalyn gritted back.

Quill turned from the board and Gosalyn snapped to attention. Some of the other kids were already groaning or whimpering.

She glanced at the writing on the corner of the board. "A theory test!" Gosalyn exclaimed aloud. "Oh, no, Mister Quill! Please!" Gosalyn gagged, making some of the other children laugh in the face of the horror.  
"Alright, children, settle down. That's enough of the theatrics, Miss Mallard. Everyone turn to page sixty four and I'll start advising you of the topics that will be in the test next week."

Gosalyn grabbed her pencil and notebook, half-wishing for the next apocalypse to hurry up and come before the weekend because it was going to be zero fun otherwise.

* * *

The morning classes slowly slid by as Gosalyn pondered her revenge on Patty and the other vultures.

At lunch, Gosalyn sat on the far side of the benches with her friends and surveyed the crowd as she absently ate her cheese and carrot sandwich. Guyru and Honker were discussing Java scripting beside her and over at a nearby table Patty and the others were arguing over who should lure Ulrich in for a date first.

Gosalyn scoffed, looking over at the boys' table. Sure, okay, Ulrich was cute enough with light brown flyaway hair and a sporty sort of way about him. But for all she could observe, Gosalyn didn't think they'd have much to talk about. Football seemed to be his thing and that was it. On the other hand, Gosalyn wasn't being fair on him to prejudge him. And on the other hand, this was just the ticket to get back at Patty.

"Gosalyn."

Gosalyn picked up her juice popper and looked back at her friends. Guyru and Honker were both looking at her with concern. "What?"  
"You've been really quiet today." Guyru stated, "Invariably that means you're up to something."  
"I resent that stigma." Gosalyn declared with propriety.  
"I know the girls really b-bug you, but they are only words, Gosalyn." Honker reminded her.  
"So? They don't quit it, Honker. They need to be taught a lesson in manners."

"Gosalyn, you can't be thinking about getting a date just to prove Pamela and the girls wrong." Honker said hotly.  
"Of course not, Honker," Gosalyn smiled at him. "That would be 'superficial' of me. No, I'm thinking about getting the date they want so I can rub their ugly beaks in it."  
Guyru snorted in laughter. "I love it! You're such a weasel, Gos!"

Honker was considering Gosalyn's words. "The trick is that you've got to show a soft side to Ulrich."  
"A soft side? I'm not sure if I have any of those." Gosalyn frowned. "This plan might take a bit of work."  
"We can work on it over the weekend." Honker offered.

"There're three words, putting a spanner in that idea, Honker." Gosalyn frowned at him. "Theory-test-dad." She counted them down. "I'm lucky he still lets me go to baseball practice. Plus anyway, Patty will make her move by then."  
"Then don't tell your dad about the test." Guyru suggested. "He doesn't need to know everything."  
Gosalyn frowned at Guyru. "I-don't-tell-him!" She objected. "Help me out on this one, Honker."

"Um..." Honker paused, "Ulrich likes football. You like football too. Theoretically you should be able to have a conversation with him about it."  
"Yeah, just what I was thinking." Gosalyn agreed with relief.  
"But whatever you do, you can't be 'just one of the guys' around him."

"Okay. Thanks, Honker." Gosalyn jumped up from her seat and headed towards the boys' table, keeping a careful check on what the triad was doing. She had a time-limited window opportunity and she intended to board it up behind her well and good.

"Hey guys." She smiled at Ulrich and the rest of the boys as she joined the end of the table.  
"Hey, Gos, you know, Ulrich likes the Razor Quacks." Rod said.  
"Really?" Gosalyn smiled even wider, "What do you think is the deal with Hadd, Ulrich? I haven't heard much since he took that dive in the match against the Rabid Quails last season."

Ulrich smiled back at her, "Wow that is so cool! I haven't found anyone who follows the Razor Quacks in this place."  
"Well, you have now." Gosalyn answered him cheerily. "Maybe we could go to the arcade next Friday after school. They sell great slushies next door."  
"What's happening this Friday?"

"My dad finds out about Mr. Quill's science test and grounds me so I'll study." Gosalyn grumbled. "He's a real stick in the mud."  
"Oh, does he do that 'study-face' like my mum does?" Ulrich groaned.  
"Study-face?" Gosalyn giggled. "Yeah. He does."

"Okay, so next Friday I'll get my mum to pick you up at seven."  
"Sure." Seven wasn't an after school thing, it was an after dinner thing. Gosalyn paused, now she had to figure out a way to get around her dad about that as well.

"Uh, well, so." Gosalyn remembered Honker's warning, "I'll let you get back to your guy talk."

She smiled at Ulrich and walked in bitter triumph back to her seat beside Honker.

"Well, that was easy." Gosalyn stated to Guyru and Honker, "Now I just have to figure out how to get around my dad."  
Honker sighed, "What did you agree to?"  
"Ulrich's mum picking me up at seven next Friday."  
"That's it, then." Guyru stated happily, "You can say that Ulrich's mum is looking after you."  
Gosalyn frowned slightly at Guyru, "Guyru, my dad isn't like your parents, or Honkers. He doesn't fit into one of your neat equations. He's going to want to know everything there is about Ulrich, and his mum. Or else he's going to play massive interference."  
"Or even sabotage it." Honker added.

"He'll do that anyway." Gosalyn sighed. "Which is why he can't find out about the after seven thing."  
"Oh, gee, Gos..." Honker sighed and looked away from her.

* * *

After the rest of the day watching the vulture triad making eyes at Ulrich, an extra riled Gosalyn parted from Honker at the mailbox and stormed in through the front door.

As Gosalyn hurried past the kitchen, she noticed her dad was putting dinner in the oven and called out to him. "Hi, dad!" She pounded up the stairs hoping to avoid the homework discussion he just loved having.

Gosalyn shrugged off her backpack and dumped her stupid textbooks on the table, eyeing her science book in contempt. If it wasn't one teacher giving her a test it just had to be another one, didn't it? And that Patty, oh, Gosalyn was going to wipe that smug smile off all three girls face right and proper next Friday. In fact, Gosalyn was going to get even with them for every school test from the dawn of time.  
"Grr!" Gosalyn growled, "Time to blow off some steam." Gosalyn grabbed her baseball bat, scouted around her dirty clothes on the floor for the ball and hurried downstairs.

Her dad was standing at the base of the stairs, arms folded, blocking off her escape; the goodly fiend.

"Da-ad..." Gosalyn smiled guiltily at his impassive face, "uh, heh, is it dinner time already?"  
"Homework, Gos."  
"Aw, come on, dad!" Gosalyn argued, "It's still light outside!"  
"Ah, the usual ploy," Drake tapped his foot. "But you know it only works when you don't have a test coming up. So ... Do you have a test?"

With a grunt of disgust, Gosalyn dropped her bat on the stairs. "It's just a stupid mid-term, dad."  
"Well, then it should be easy to study for." Drake responded smugly.  
Gosalyn tried begging. "Come on, dad, just till dinner time? I need a break."  
"What subject is your test in?"  
Gosalyn sighed, "Science chemistry."  
"Practical or theory?"  
Gosalyn gritted her beak. Unfortunately, straight lies didn't work on super sleuths. "Theory."  
"Sorry, Gosalyn," He said with a regretful frown on his face. "You know you need the extra study time for theory."

"It's my life!" Gosalyn felt her face growing hot. "Shouldn't that be my mistake to make? Anyway, it's next Thursday! I've got heaps of time!"  
"Gosalyn," Drake refuted, "studying for your mid-term will only make studying for your final easier."  
Gosalyn was furious. "How'd you figure that out and which planet were you on at the time? Because-I-plan-to-never-go-there!"

"Gosalyn-Elizabeth-Mallard, that's enough!" Drake cut off the discussion and gestured for her to head up the stairs, signalling the end of the debate.

* * *

Gosalyn grunted and picked up her bat, begrudgingly stomping up the stairs with her father on her heels.

"You can do this, Gosalyn." Drake herded her into her bedroom and pulled out her science book from the stack, placing it on the table in front of her as she sat down in her chair.  
"I am not a baby!" Gosalyn folded her arms, her simmering indignation from school boiling up again. "I don't get it, dad, what's the point of going on me like this?"  
"To put it very simply, Gos; you need chemistry to find out 'who dunnit'."

Gosalyn flipped open the book to a random page, "So did you stay indoors when you were ten and study and get good marks on your mid-term tests too so you could find out 'who dunnit' dad?"  
He hesitated. "This isn't about me; you're the one who's important here." Drake had an uneasy sway in his voice, "I know you can do well and I want to see it happen."  
Gosalyn leapt up from her chair and confronted him. "So you didn't study!" She accused him. "And you expect me to?" She folded her arms.

"I didn't, Gosalyn." He agreed, quietly, "Not at your age, no, I didn't have the chance."  
"Well, isn't that like the pot calling the kettle black or something?" Gosalyn sneered.  
"It's more the fact that I don't want the kettle ending up like the pot!" He pointed at the book. "Consider me your wake up call."

"But I want to fight crime like you do, dad."

Drake backed off to the door and put his hand on the knob before turning his head back to her. "I'm sorry it sounds like I keep telling you what to do but you've got to study for your own good, Gosalyn." He said in a quieter voice, a frown on his face, "theory is hard. No. Hard just doesn't quite carry the emotional undertone; Scratch hard. Theory-is-infuriating!" He exclaimed. "To think you can't get by without it feels humiliating, and half the time it's like your worst enemy is amongst those pages and out to ruin your life. Using words you couldn't care less about on a subject that you could care a whole lot more for. Oh, boy. But if you don't learn the theory behind the practical, you're going to make mistakes and people are going to get hurt; it's inevitable to the uneducated. And being mad about something isn't a reason to give up, Gosalyn. The madder you are the harder you've got to stick with it because that's the challenge and you've got to rise above it so you don't make my mistakes!"

"What mistakes, dad?" Gosalyn watched her dad standing uncomfortably. "Is it that book they gave you last week, dad, about how to be a vampire that's got you so bugged?"

Drake scowled. "If I'd studied at your age, Gosalyn, I would have cracked the F.O.W.L. case years ago; it would never have gotten to the point of vampire experiments. Get into the book, Gosalyn, and pass that test. You've got a real opportunity to be the best in the game and it all boils down to getting what's between the covers of your textbooks in between your ear slits." With that, he swung the door shut behind him and left Gosalyn to the afternoon sun receding from her room.

"I dunno what's up with him." Gosalyn muttered to herself, distracted from her life by her father's ultra-dramatic cadence. "He's supposed to be the one who's best in the game." Gosalyn turned to the first chapter for the term and pulled out her notebook. "Page sixty four." She stared at the big letters of the chapter title page. "Mitosis. Oh, well that's useful." She turned to the first page with actual paragraphs on it and skimmed through the first two paragraphs. "What was that?" Her memory hadn't collected a single word of it.

"Mitosis is ..." Gosalyn stared blankly for a moment as nothing came into her head.

Gosalyn buried her face in her hands with a groan. "I'm doomed."


	5. Ch1 P5 Shades of Blue

**DARK** **DUCK** **10**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 **Part 5**

* * *

 **Shades of Blue**

* * *

 _The city lights swirled a luminescent green across the night-time sky like an aurora. The neighbouring buildings seemed so far away beyond the quiet she-oaks of Morgana's backyard._

 _"Is it a case?"_

 _Steelbeak looked up from the courtyard table to see the tall dark haired woman with a petite beak and a high-fashion purple and black dress. It took him a moment to remember where he was. "Oh, I ... Morgana. No it ..." He sighed. "It's this dratted book." He cast the black hardcover book onto the table. Much to his revulsion it sprang open to page 152. "I'm sure it has it in for me."_  
 _"Something tells me the reverse is true." Morgana's curious fingers delicately pulled the decimated book towards her. She lifted back the cover to read the title._  
 _"It's supposed to be a 'how to' for fledglings." Steelbeak detailed, "Teaches you what to do to survive longer."_

 _Morgana turned the book to the contents page. "There seems quite a legal ramble in here ..."_  
 _"The legal stuff is the easy part." Steelbeak stressed. "Vampire laws are just like an extremely abridged version of normal laws." Steelbeak waved his hand in dismissal and slumped back in his chair._

 _Watching her for a few more moments he sprang back up in realisation. "You can read it!"_  
 _"Did you never think me an odd witch, Dark? With bats instead of cats?" She gazed at him._  
 _"Speaking of odd," Steelbeak changed the subject, "your weather vane hasn't been paying me much attention lately." Steelbeak mentioned, gazing up to the top of the roof where he could just see the point of the enchanted lookout. "Is it still ... on? If that's the right word; I can see it's still up there."_  
 _"Oh, yes, it's just gotten used to you now."_  
 _"Well, can you tell it I've been missing our game of tag?" He looked back at Morgana with a smile._

 _Steelbeak watched Morgana's attention settle on the book; watched her flicking her eyes down the contents page._

 _"Anything interesting?" He asked her dryly._  
 _"It's a book on vampires written by vampires for vampires. That in itself is interesting." Morgana stated. "But to tell the truth I would have expected a bit more to it. It's less than three hundred pages and it doesn't appear to be part of a volume set."_  
 _Steelbeak shrugged. "It's supposed to be for Peacekeepers. Which is me... apparently there are different types. Hence the hundred page legal preamble." He leaned forwards, pointing an accusing finger at the book. "It lulls me into a false sense of security with all the rights and wrongs spelled out like even a ten year old could handle it and then it attacks me."_  
 _"Attacks you?" Morgana repeated in surprise, "It's just a book, Dark, and not a particularly sentient book at that."_

 _Steelbeak sat back again with a huff; watched Morgana looking thoughtful as she continued to leaf through the book. "What?"_  
 _"Oh, well, I always want to know the little details."_  
 _"They're probably not going to be recognisable." He grumbled. "That book couldn't get any more dry and dusty if you toasted it over the fire and then staked it."_

 _"Oh, I don't know, what about this page?" She smoothed open the book with her hands, "Telepathic links."_  
 _Steelbeak glared at the book. "That would be page 175 and a great lot of good that does me!"_  
 _Morgana scanned the paragraphs. "It is peculiarly curt. Only I did imagine this topic to be longer."_  
 _"Yeah, so did 'I'!" Steelbeak agreed in irritation._

 _He paused watching her concentrating on reading the page. There was something odd about the way her eyes were moving. "Are you ..." he gaped at her. "You're reading my margin notes!"_ _  
 _Morgana finished her study and looked up at him. Her beak was twitching with humour, "As a responsible girlfriend I should really find out what is bothering my significant other or how can I ever avail myself to help him?" She shrugged lightly, "and besides which you've got this book all wrong."__

 _"Wrong ..." Steelbeak stared at her blankly. "I'm wrong?" He repeated, stunned. "Wrong!" He gaped unbelievingly at her. "W...?!"_

 _"You're saying I'm ... wrong? Me? Wrong! I'm never wrong!"_  
 _"Yes, you're wrong, Dark!" Morgana matched his intensity. "It is okay to be wrong every so often, you know. To err is human, to forgive divine."_  
 _"Alright." He begrudgingly accepted, "So long as it's not where it counts."_  
 _"I entirely agree." Morgana answered easily._

 _He slowly recovered his dignity. "So how am 'I' wrong anyway?"_  
 _"You said this was a 'How To' guide when really it is nothing of the sort." Morgana answered crisply. "The text is steeped in an aloofness that assumes a great number of things of its reader including an academically inclined mind. Your notes, your transcriptions; they're the only 'How To' in this book."_

 _She flicked slowly through the pages, glancing over more of his margin notes. "I think you should write your own practical guidebook for fledgling vampires. You're quite a talented wordsmith and people are bound to be more interested in what you have to say over a stuffy old book like this one."_

 _Steelbeak sighed at the hefty compliment. "Oh, Morg; you're wonderful."_

* * *

 _The green night-time city sky changed to sunrise colours bathing the world in an eerie pink and golden light. Beneath Steelbeak's feet the front yard of the plain little white house was shrinking as the rushing river continued to rise. Steelbeak looked over at the riverbank in the distance. It seemed to be growing further away with every passing moment._

 _The rushing sound of the river made his heart pound and he scrambled up the tree at the side of the house to the roof. He looked up into the sky. Pinkish grey clouds hung low, threateningly oppressive. The clouds above his head crackled in thunder and far away on the distant shore an unbridled fire raged through a wild and tangled forest. A fresh torrent rose and swelled, washing Steelbeak from his unsteady perch on the roof. He sank beneath the surface of the river as a metallic clanging sounded in his ear slits._

* * *

Steelbeak woke up in a coughing splutter. His heart was still pounding as his mind registered his prison cell and the sound of the lock on his prison door.

"Good morning, Mister Rip Van Winkle." The warden's voice called to him.

Two prison guards came in to stand over him.  
"What's your matter?" He asked them dryly. "I ain't hungry. And I thought I had a week to get over me jet lag."  
"You've already missed out on breakfast today." The warden advised him.

"Good, on account 'a me hating breakfast." Steelbeak looked over to the warden, "Lemme guess; my visitor's back?"  
"On your feet, Steelbeak, You can get back to your hundred year nap later."  
Steelbeak stood up. "I'm willing to negotiate for a shorter term."

The warden snorted, "I'm sure you are."

* * *

Steelbeak crossed the hall to stand opposite Hooter in the prison dining room.

"Good morning, Steelbeak." Hooter politely nodded up at him from his seat.  
"Hooter, me old pal from the other side of the bars."  
"Did you sleep better last night?"  
"Getting there ..." Steelbeak sat down in front of Hooter expectant for trouble. "So you're back for another 'wellbeing' session."  
"As I was endeavouring last time, yes. You were rather scant in your account on some of the factual details pertaining to your arrest."  
"Facts? You want factual details from a guy who swears he's been off with the pointed tooth fairies?" Steelbeak snapped in irritation. "I'm a laughing stock!"

Hooter straightened his papers. "I respect you as a professional, Agent Steelbeak. However that I do not approve of either your morals, motives or your methods, I still consider you sane in your own inimitable fashion. That you believe with such sincerity of the events of the last few weeks is quite enough for me."  
"Hey, that sure is some high praise." Steelbeak studied Hooter's expression. "You sure gotta be digging for dirt. I'd ask 'what's in it for me' only I gave it all up already and you read it so what more has gotta be said other than 'what's my cut from the movie deal'?"

Again, Hooter paused and straightened his papers on the table. "Agent Steelbeak, let me put it bluntly," the elderly owl gazed at him, "I have been in this game far longer than you have and I distinctly know the difference between fact and fallacy. I also know the difference between someone who has an axe to grind, someone who wants to bury the hatchet and then again someone living in fear of the chopping block."

"Sure you do." Steelbeak replied glumly. "Still you knowin' all that don't go changing a rain barrel into a cask of amontillado."

"If you might please describe exactly what transpired when Darkwing Duck was arresting you?"  
"But you read it already!" Steelbeak felt a shock of fearful nerves shoot up his spine at hearing the call of his nightmare's name. "I-it's all there on the page. I ain't skipped nothin' worth noting! Quit bad-gum cross-examining me!"

Hooter gazed up at him. Steelbeak realised in the silent pause that he might've said that a bit too loudly.

"With all due respect, Agent Steelbeak, there is a decidedly large gap in your recount that hasn't been examined once yet. You have mentioned nothing between the point you lost consciousness and the point when the QQPD took you in. But you were perfectly awake by their account."

"Y-you ain't ..." Steelbeak gulped, "gonna get that outta me." He shuddered and closed his eyes. "No way, no how." The images from that night returned to his mind's eye like the DVD contents page burnt into a plasma screen.

* * *

 _"Wha-?" Steelbeak blinked awake, putting his hands to his neck. No injury. "Alive? I'm still alive! How'd I get outta that?" The cool blue lighting of the control room shone down on him._

 _"How uncharacteristic of you to faint, Steelbeak." The dark voice sent a shiver up his spine and Steelbeak looked over to where Darkwing ... the vampire duck ... stood by the console as the electric lights shone down on them._

 _"They ... all of the eggmen killed ..."_ _  
 _"Yes and there was nearly another murderous vampire rampage in Quack Quong thanks to you."_  
 _Steelbeak raised an eye-brow as he got up on his feet, "How can you still be a do-gooder with all of that ..." He flinched, knowing he was in the firing line. "Killer instinct?"_  
 _Darkwing laughed, his voice echoing dark and threatening. "Yeah, I don't need a reminder for that."_  
 _"Y-you ain't gonna kill me now," Steelbeak's breath hitched. "You didn't do it when you had the chance earlier."_  
 _"Oh, please," Darkwing huffed.__

 _"Wait ..." Steelbeak realised his hands were free. "W-why ain't you handcuffed me yet?"_

 _Darkwing stepped towards him, "Overdid-the-hot-foot, just a scotch there, didn't you, Steelbeak?"_ _The vampire said in short irritation, "I mean, did you really have to fly this far? You made me cross oceans, Steelbeak!" He hissed, "I mean ... oceans! Big stretches of ... energy-draining ... salty ... salt ... water. Not exactly smart ... Making me ..."_

 _Seeing the tips of the vampire's fangs, Steelbeak shrank back and reached for the iphone in his pocket. "You know what you're doing, Darkwing? Trading places with the guy you just dusted, it don't sound so good-."_

 _"... Starving!" Darkwing grabbed his hand before he could aim the laser app at him._ _  
 _"Aw c-come on ... y-you're the g-good guy-uh!" Steelbeak gasped unsteadily as Darkwing grabbed him even tighter. The vampire had him posed like a wax work; Steelbeak couldn't move, he could barely even breathe with the closed in feeling around his torso._  
 _"I'm too hungry!" Darkwing growled._  
 _"I know you, Darkwing; you can talk yourself around to anything."_  
 _"Except I've chased you too far this time, Steelbeak! I-I'm on the edge of-" Darkwing's voice hitched in_ _desperation, "... I-I can't let that happen!"__

* * *

"Agent Steelbeak!"

Steelbeak snapped open his eyes at the elderly voice and managed to get away from the memory.

Hooter was standing behind the table in the dining hall with a look of alarm.  
"There ain't nothing." Steelbeak answered dully.  
"Agent Steelbeak, if you were treated particularly brutally at the time of your arrest, by withholding this information you are only protecting-."  
"Me!" Steelbeak felt a new shock of fear. "I'm protecting me!"

"Very well," Hooter stated in trace annoyance. "You, but you are also protecting your assailant. The question I put to you is: do you want to be helping him out by not telling me everything you can? Do you really owe him such a favour as that?"

Steelbeak rubbed his face. Sinking back into these memories really sapped his energy. He felt a yawn coming on. "This' gotta be somethin' for you, ain't it? Coming in for a chat and me without no beauty sleep."  
"I fancy that you might get better sleep if you talked with someone about your ordeal! Truthfully. For example, we could start with why blue lights bother you so much."

"Aw, are you gonna be my shrink?" Steelbeak jibed defensively. "The last guy I had wrote me off as an incurable amoral sociopath."  
"Something has clearly disturbed you about your last encounter with-."  
"Don't-say-his-name!" Steelbeak shrieked, jumping up from his seat in terror. Two sets of strong hands grabbed hold of him. His panic level skyrocketed. He felt his chest tighten and he struggled. "No, please, no!" He begged.

"As you wish, Agent Steelbeak."

Hooter's calm elderly voice lifted his tension and Steelbeak realised these were just prison guards. He relaxed in relief that the danger wasn't on him.

"Please release him now, officers. I think he has somewhat recovered from his momentary lapse ... into what though, I'm not sure."

Steelbeak sank back onto the bench and buried his face in his hands in mortification. "That was bad-gum embarrassing."  
Hooter sat down again as well. "Whatever that has happened to you it isn't 'nothing', Steelbeak. Something has inspired you to respond in this fashion." Hooter stated. "A prison psychologist I may not be, but how you've just reacted only reinforces the reason that I must continue to be here talking with you."

"Can we take a break at least?" Steelbeak sighed wearily and looked up at Hooter. "I'm real beat."  
"Agreed," Hooter answered. "This must be done at your pace." He turned his head, looking over to the surface of the wooden table further up. "I find the daylight is somewhat of a comfort." He remarked. "I much prefer the dining room to the interview rooms they have here."

Steelbeak looked down to the square of light reaching across the table towards them. He followed it up to the window high above from where it was coming from. "How about that: it's nearly lunchtime." He commented dully. "It'll be three o'clock soon." Steelbeak's mind wandered back to the suburbs. "Time to wake up and make dinner again." Life was so routine, so normal like the flows and ebbs of a rolling, bubbling sometimes tumbling and rushing river.

"So early?" Hooter asked him.  
"Eh?" Steelbeak blinked back at Hooter. "What is?"

"Good day, Steelbeak." Hooter gestured to the guards. "I wish you better rest."

* * *

 **End Chapter One**

* * *

 **Next Chapter: Dark Designs**


	6. Ch2 P1 Anything Fair

**DARK DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Part 1**

* * *

 **Anything Fair**

* * *

For the third time, Director J Gander Hooter sat down in the prison dining room and laid out his paperwork. The criminal agent Steelbeak had mentioned sleeping school hours in their last discussion. Drake Mallard had a school age daughter. If these things were at all connected then so too was Steelbeak to Darkwing Duck.

Hooter resolved he really must gather something less circumstantial from Steelbeak today. The door at the far side of the dining room opened and he looked up to take stock of how the poor soul was doing today.

As Steelbeak walked up to where Hooter sat, his step still lacked his old swagger of self-confidence but he was holding himself a bit straighter.

"Ah, Steelbeak, you look better rested today."  
"Hey, Hooter," Steelbeak sat on the bench seat opposite Hooter with a wary look. "Ain't you a social butterfly? I told you last time, I ain't got nothing for you." The denial in the rooster's voice was paper thin and the defiance in his brown eyes was half-hearted at best.

It was an improvement.

"It's quite distinctly possible that you do have no further information available." Hooter replied. "However it has been a few days and you have rested. So I really must ask you." Hooter paused. An error in his wording could bring him empty handed from this discussion. He did not want to sound sympathetic. If there was anything Steelbeak rejected on principle it was sympathy. Perhaps the only principle the criminal agent had, but it was certainly the one holding him together through all of this.

"There may be a way to keep you safe. If you tell me every detail you possibly can of the events between waking up to when the QQPD took over." Hooter said matter-of-factly.  
"That's a tall order, chief." Steelbeak said dully. "I don't reckon you could fill it."  
"Why not?"  
Steelbeak shook his head and gave a tired sigh.

Hooter was not going anywhere right now without clearing his objective of scribing something substantial on Drake Mallard's case file. He calmly put down his pen and folded his arms, giving the open-ended question, "Tell me about vampires, Steelbeak."

Steelbeak mirrored his actions, folding his arms on the table and leaning towards Hooter. "You know, of all the guys there are in the world, it all boils down to two sorts. The guy what does his job for the paycheque and the guy who don't."  
"Certainly."  
"Take the first guy. His job is his meal ticket. He gets paid, he stays fed. That's his world in a nutshell. Only then he gets to being a vampire. Adios deadbeat job, hello Eat Street."  
"A simple way of looking at things." Hooter supposed.  
"Oh, sure." Steelbeak agreed. "If you're that sort'a guy life just got real simple, didn't it?"

"That isn't the case for all vampires?" Hooter prompted.  
"Well, you reckon 'you'd' be bored outta yah skull, wouldn't ya?" Steelbeak pressed him.  
"Hmm." Hooter frowned, "A tad. One might assume a lot of free time on their hands."  
"So there's your answer. If you were a vampire you'd make a whole career of it; you'd set up the biggest chases you can. We'd all be in your game of chess. You, me; the kid..." He swallowed. "I mean, coz you ain't doing your job just for the paycheque. You gotta be entertained, too. Right?"

"Indeed." Hooter paused his note taking. "Who is the 'career-minded' vampire playing against?"  
"Against?" Steelbeak blinked.  
"If we're pieces on his chess board, to use your metaphor, and he can manoeuvre us about as he pleases, it interests me to know who this 'bored' vampire would use us to fight against. Who is his opponent?"  
"Don't you get what I'm saying? It's a vampire's world and we're just a bunch of helpless playthings!" Steelbeak exclaimed. "Your rules don't apply to vampires; they're over it. Well, hey, it wasn't a real bother to him before; why start now?" Steelbeak snapped, "You got alligators in your duck pond, chief. Your little title deed don't mean nothing no more."

Hooter glanced down at his notes.  
'You, me, the kid.'  
The child, Gosalyn Mallard, was also clearly mixed up in all this.

"Bored vampires play games with people as pawns." Hooter rephrased Steelbeak's words. "Surely a prime indicator for a nightmarish situation." He kept an even conversational tone, "How does the child fit into the grand plan?"

"What? Kid?" Steelbeak blinked in shock at Hooter as if, once again, he'd said something entirely unexpected. Clearly Steelbeak's mind had gone wandering off again.  
"You mentioned something earlier about a little girl to do with the vampire's grand plan." Hooter repeated, stressing his words, trying to keep Steelbeak in the moment with him. "How do they connect together?"

To his surprise, an angry look sparked on Steelbeak's face. "Look, chief, I don't gotta be dealing with your problems on top of mine. I ain't got nothing for you. Quit badgering me; I'm done!"

Hooter clamped down on his disappointment at his failure. Unfortunately the criminal mindset was a fair-weather friend to the moralities that the rest of society generally possessed. "I am willing to discuss shortening the term of your sentence in exchange for this particular piece of information."  
One of Steelbeak's eyebrows shot up and he sat up straighter. "Hey. It's really all'a'dat to you?"

Hooter watched Steelbeak carefully. "Yes, it is, very much so. I am concerned for the child's welfare. I'm concerned for your welfare. I'm concerned to think that you are a single line entry in a long ledger of victims both criminal and not. I am responsible for the conduct of my agents, no matter how loosely affiliated they are. What does the child have to do with the grand plan?"  
"Director Hooter." Steelbeak said, taking a shaky breath. "I' got a lot of respect for a guy with your reputation. But this here is prime real estate." He swallowed. "And you're talking to the guy locked in the boiler room." He finished in a flat decisive voice, shutting down the discussion.

Hooter stared at Steelbeak. The admission of entrapment couldn't be any clearer. "One might be concerned of the boiler overheating?"  
"Gotta keep your eye on that thing." Steelbeak remarked dryly.  
Hooter put the pen down; that was all this conversation would afford his notes.

"Do you truly believe you may stand a chance at surviving the awkward position you're caught in?"  
Steelbeak laughed weakly. "What? You really take me for a dumb schmuck?"  
"Honestly no," Hooter answered, "I certainly don't envy you your predicament, Agent Steelbeak," he imposed, "but does it not cross your mind that you will eventually lose this game of chess as it were?"  
"I reckon I'm about due for a black belt in the art of losing."  
Hooter shook his head. "The 'art of losing'. Indeed that would be a necessary talent to possess against someone so insistent on winning."  
A grim smile crept over Steelbeak's features. "Thanks for the tip."

Hooter regarded Steelbeak. "You really do look remarkably better today compared to my last visit. Perhaps even working back towards a measure of sanity."  
"Thanks, you mind passing the news back to the warden? He's been measuring me up for a straightjacket since I got in here." Steelbeak nodded towards the door. "But I'm due for work in the yard now, so ..."  
"Very well." Hooter stood up and closed his folder. "Since you've made your position on the matter quite clear I shall not concern you again. However the reverse is not true. Please feel free to contact me should your circumstances change."

Hooter nodded at Steelbeak and signalled for the guards. "I hope this discussion will at least get you some better rest now, Agent Steelbeak."  
"Thanks, but somehow I think it may take a bit more than a little heart to heart." Steelbeak stood up and walked out with the guards.

Steelbeak was a career criminal, unwavering, amoral. As Hooter drove back to his office, the vision of a boiler room and a locked door plagued him. Could anything fair be found in such an imprisonment?

* * *

The St Canard S.H.U.S.H. office was in a normal state of business for a Saturday. As he passed by the cubicles, there were some agents leftover from the week, obsessively tidying up the loose ends of cases. Hooter passed by Grizlykoff's closed door and reached Terri Smith's reception desk just before his own door.

"Any calls, Mrs Smith?"  
"Uh, yes, sir, Agent Quiota checked in. He's back in St Canard."  
"Quite a relief!" Hooter stated, "His last interim report was a week ago." Hooter remembered, "Where is his report?"  
Terri frowned crossly. "I attempted to find that out, sir. It was a really unfortunate conversation. Director, I think he needs a good Grizly-fying."  
"That's a serious assessment. Agent Quiota is a highly trained expert in paranormal activity." Hooter frowned back at her. "When is he scheduled in for debriefing?"  
"It defied calendar translation ..." She huffed as she searched around her desk for the post it note. "Oh, yes, he said 'Later'. Apparently he still had 'things to get on with'. I managed to get the address he was investigating out of him. It's the carnival pitched on the bay-side showground."  
"My word!"  
"The man's still on holiday in the head." Terri sighed and shook her head.  
"He wasn't supposed to be on holiday at all! He was supposed to be doing field research on vampires." Hooter harrumphed, "Did anything else come across while I was gone?"  
She shook her head. "Nothing you didn't want the Assistant Director to see. He's fine, by the way."  
Hooter felt a small measure of ease. "At least that's something. A relapse is the last thing anyone could want."  
"Yes, sir, oh, I found some academic papers you may be interested in."  
"Thank you." He reached up and took the folder. "And whenever it delights Agent Quiota to finally come in with his report, could you kindly send him through, please." Hooter added in passing.

Going to his door, Hooter unlocked it and went in. He reached his desk and sat down. The academic paper's title was 'Vampire Venom, A Theorem. Dissertation by Benjamin Ducker'.

What Hooter was researching felt a tad more real than what the title renounced, but vampires themselves allegedly did not exist.  
"... 'One of the most complex of venoms ever to be found in a naturally occurring state ... Unlike any other substances, the potential for the victim to die ... Other properties ... plays a psychosomatic role ... as intentioned by the originating vampire ... to the extent of-' ..."

Hooter put down the paper, putting his glasses on top of it and sank back depressively in his chair. "Complete functional control."

It was the unfortunate answer to too many questions.


	7. Ch2 P2 Gosalyn's Dad

**DARK** **DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Part 2**

* * *

 **Gosalyn's Dad**

* * *

It was late afternoon and Gosalyn's dad wouldn't let her stay on the baseball pitch any longer. Even the fun trip to the Last Minute store for a hotdog couldn't last forever.

After shutting the front door behind them, Drake lifted the baseball cap off his daughter's head and hung it on the coat stand in the hall.

"How's your study for the test going, Gos?" Her father asked.  
Gosalyn reeled around from her view of the staircase. This was her weekend off! "Da-ad! Kill the mood why don't you?"  
"Sorry, Gos." He frowned back at her. "I promise to stop pestering you about your homework the minute you get that job as a high-paying executive."  
"Yeah, dad," Gosalyn jeered, "for 'high-paying executive' read 'money-grubbing-white-collar-self-profiteering-psychopath'."  
Drake tsked, "the correct term in most cases is 'sociopath' and they're not all like that, Gosalyn."  
"I've met enough like that to do me." Gosalyn folded her arms and turned her head away from him. "I'm scarred for life."  
"Okay ..." He mused, "I know! How about studying alien artefacts in area 52?"  
"Right," Gosalyn replied with sarcasm, "like how Bushroot was just a scientist studying plants: 'You may address me as Queen Quackalatica of the Cosmos, formally known as Gosalyn Mallard.' " She added in a put-on voice.  
"Gos, it was just a suggestion," Drake explained in an innocent voice.  
"Don't worry dad, I'll come and visit you sometime," she teased, "like every thousand years maybe," she snorted sarcastically.  
"O-okay!" Drake uttered worriedly.  
Gosalyn closed her eyes, imagining the ugliest thing she could think of: " 'Oh, I do hope you approve'," Gosalyn continued in a put-on voice again, " 'I married a squishy tentacle brain from Dimension X'."  
"I am clearly on the back foot here," Drake muttered to himself with a growing frown.  
" 'Everyone knows him as "Lord Krang the Third" '."  
"Gosalyn-."  
"But he's really not an evil person once you get to know him. He's just allergic to reptiles. And that time he took over planet Xeton was a complete misunder-."  
"Gos, time out, you won already!"

"-standing." Gosalyn calmed down and turned back to him.  
Drake put his hands on his hips and tsked, "That's fine if your imaginary boyfriend is an alien, but could you at least imagine him with a backbone?" He ended in a plaintiff voice.  
Gosalyn didn't feel so grumpy anymore, "Hey, you know, love's a funny thing."  
"Not that funny," Drake disagreed in ill-humour, reminding Gosalyn that this was her dad and she had to look after him.

"How's that book you bought going, dad? Has it made you into a 'real vampire' yet?" She watched his face flush pink for an instant meaning his heart had just done something odd. "That must be serious."  
"I've got an idea." He said seriously. "Come on, Gos, let's go to the tower." He headed to the armchairs in the lounge room and Gosalyn followed, deciding anything would be better than sitting in the same room as her chemistry book right now. She hit the mouse statue on the head and they whirled down the trap door.

* * *

Gosalyn followed her father across the sunset coloured tower to the study area. On Darkwing Duck's ancient solid wood desk was the saddest looking black hardcover book she'd ever seen. Only the almighty power of gaffe tape was keeping it all together.

"Okay, Gosalyn."

She looked around from the ratty black book on the table to Darkwing in his cape and hat. "You weren't kidding about getting mad at it."  
"Uh, yeah ... my temper still needs a bit of work." He frowned, watching the book as though it might fly off or something. "Morgana told me this book was written for academics."  
Gosalyn tried to keep a straight face. "Doesn't that just make it hard to read?"  
"No. It means it has next to no grounding in real life."  
"Oh, so you need a reality check." Gosalyn giggled.  
He nodded. "And maybe that's what you need too; both of us together."  
Gosalyn folded her arms. "I'm a kid, I'm supposed to ... not going to win this argument, am I?"

Darkwing shrugged. "Doing chemistry is fun, right, Gos?"  
She shrugged, "yeah."  
"So maybe if we just go through your book with a practical approach maybe it'll help you remember that theory. What's a topic in the test?"  
"Permeation."  
"That's easy." Darkwing bragged. "I couldn't even count how many times I turn to shadow in a night." He spun around on the spot, "I just change my rate of molecular cohesion to match my Vespers." He pointed at her. "Then I'm diffused and air can pass through me like I can pass through it: Permeation."  
"Not to mention the symbionts as well." Gosalyn said excitedly, they're permeated through you."  
"Exactly," he answered.  
"What's another topic?"  
"Mitosis."  
"Again, reality is the easy version. Mitosis is-."

"DW!"

They turned their heads up to see Launchpad watching the security cameras up on top on the cylinder platform.  
"What is it, Launchpad?" Darkwing jumped up the ladder, stepping only on the centre rung as he vaulted up onto the cylindrical computer platform.

Gosalyn climbed steadily up the ladder after him, "hi Launchpad."  
"Hi Gos," Launchpad said in a friendly tone.  
"Fleur Maroon!" Darkwing exclaimed, "I thought I smelt VapoRub."  
"They're moving something pretty big." Launchpad stated.  
"VapoRub?" Gosalyn mused on the warehouse activity and the greasy looking thug standing guard on the big screen. "What, is he sick?"  
"No: hypochondriac."  
"What's 'hypochondriac'?" Gosalyn asked in mild inattentiveness.  
"It means he's a real easy scare. Let me just zoom out for a moment." Darkwing handled the controls in front of Launchpad and soon they were looking at several camera angles showing up the entire boulevard of warehouses. "That car," he pointed, "it's the Hiroshena. The Hiroshena have busted in on 'my' St Canard!" Darkwing exclaimed in possessive indignation, and then paused as if thinking of something else. "Oh, boy, this'll be fun."

"What do you suppose they're moving, Darkwing?" Gosalyn asked, trying to get back onto the topic.  
"The Hiroshena are politically driven," Darkwing explained, "so we won't know until we suss out their connections."  
"Or you could just crack open a box when they're not looking," Gosalyn smirked.  
Darkwing turned to her. "Gosalyn, that's what I did with Quackerjack at the boxing ring. You were there. I didn't figure out his game plan first and I took a sound beating for it. If there's a guy and a box always open up the guy first and the box last. Come on, Launchpad." Darkwing jumped off the platform. "Let's zero in on these out-of-towners and roll out the unwelcome wagon."

Gosalyn stared down after them. "And what if it's a live bomb in that box, Darkwing?" She asked loudly.  
"Then you open up your guy and get the heck out of there. Apply your theory, Gos." Darkwing called back up to her. "And your test will be a breeze."  
"Yeah, dad," Gosalyn said a bit less loudly. "I'll give it a try."

The adults disappeared and Gosalyn jumped in excitement at her sudden freedom. 'Way to go, Launchpad!' She raced over to the bookshelves. 'Now Practical Psychology Volume One? I've got to get that date with Ulrich Dogsworth right.'

* * *

Book after book, Gosalyn poured over details. Her mind was growing fuzzy with sleepiness. She gave up for a bit and looked at her poor dad's own study nightmare.

Scuffed up, gaffe tape bound, yeah, her dad's temper alright. Gosalyn flicked it open. The pages were blank.  
"Whoa!" Gosalyn flicked over the rough and crunchy pages. The only thing in this book was her dad's writing. "Mondo unfair," she complained at it, then realised her dad had made notes. "What's been bugging you, dad?" She flicked to the most wrecked page. Ripped, scrunched, and taped.

In sharp lettering he'd written: " **Putting aside one's personal relevance.** " She turned the book around to the softer writing. _"What remains is the criminal's psychology. The failing point of such a plan is when you cross a duck who fears nothing. In either of those cases the solution is obvious._ "  
Gosalyn scratched her head. It didn't sound like her dad even had a problem, or at least not anymore.

She found another scuffed up page. In sharp letters he'd written: " **For those who don't live in a textbook perfect world**."  
She turned the book around to the softer bit. " _Learning is as synonymous to succeeding as quitting is to failing. The only solution is to just keep trying_."  
"Geez," Gosalyn mused, sitting back. "Sounds like you're pushing a boulder up a hill, dad." With a wave of sorrow and guilt mixed up with sleepiness, Gosalyn shrugged off the chair and headed towards the trap door armchairs. "So, I can't fail chemistry so long as I 'try' to study..."


	8. Ch2 P3 The Wait

**DARK** **DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Part 3**

* * *

 **The Wait**

* * *

In the gathering gloom of his office, Hooter sat back, staring at the file folder on Drake Mallard. "Irreplaceable." He got up and closed the curtains to the gathered darkness outside. As he went he picked up the page report from off the printer. So many hours he'd spent trying, searching for better answers but it all came down to one final conclusion printed on this page.

 _Drake Mallard._  
 _Suspected vampire._

 _Symptoms and notes identified:_

 _Ability to recover from extreme physical stress and damage._  
 _Apparent ability to move through closed doors._  
 _Preference to night time work._  
 _Ability to recover from extreme mental stress and damage._  
 _Testament of F.O.W.L. Agent Steelbeak, trial pending for conducting several experiments with vampires as per attached._

He glanced over Steelbeak's claim again which ended with:

'... _I thought I was one dead amigo for sure when he jumped me. I wanna stay here in Quack Quong. Or_ _Canada_ _. Hey, wherever they wanna send me; up_ _Mount Fuji_ _I don't mind. Just not St Canard, I ain't never wanting to get back to St Canard again. Coz I can't dodge the capoeira no more. I ain't no dumb cluck. Man-o-man! I don't wanna see no more vampires, kapeesh?_ '

Hooter picked up his pen just as the intercom beeped.  
"Sir?"  
"Yes, Agent Smith?"  
"Sir, I know this sounds a bit trivial, but ... were you at my desk earlier?"  
"In light of the matter I'm currently attending to that does sound very trivial. No, I was not." He summoned his patience again; "Is there anything missing?"  
"Yes - oh, no, there it is, what's it doing there?"  
"If that's all, Terri?"  
"Yes, sir. Sorry sir ... I don't get it ..." The line cut off.

Hooter shook his head and flicked through the folder.  
Adoption papers, his gaze once more caught on the photo of the little girl. A grim look of a troubled child, her arms folded in defiance as she stared past the camera, the orphanage gate behind her.

' _... The kid's tied up in it ..._ '  
Steelbeak's words echoed in Hooter's memory and he sighed, "That adoption was made over a year and a half ago."

Unable to put it off any longer, Hooter signed, dated the freshly printed page and put it in the manila folder. He stood up and put the case file back in his double locked cabinet and left his office, locking the door behind him.  
"Let's go home, Mrs Smith." He addressed his personal assistant. She promptly stood up, putting her jacket on.

They headed to the underground car park together.  
"What day are you taking off this week?" He asked her.  
"Whatever day you take off, sir, of course," she answered smartly.  
"I would hope for Agent Quiota's report on Monday," Hooter hesitated a half answer; "I surely don't know who to send after him if he gets to be any more trouble."  
Terri frowned. "Perhaps ... No, Agent Lanley's too young in the head, isn't he, sir?"  
"Oh dear," Hooter inwardly trembled, "let us put our staffing problems onto Monday's agenda, Agent Smith."  
"Yes, sir," Terri said smartly and sat down in her driver's seat.  
Hooter stepped away from his personal assistant's car. It was now his job to try and not think about the troubles of work for a while.

As he sat down in the driver's seat Hooter felt a renewed pang of sorrow. Finding someone to back up Grizlykoff was one matter, but who on earth could possibly come anywhere near to replacing Darkwing Duck?

* * *

From their skylight view, Steelbeak sized up the gang leaders inside the warehouse below. Group pow-wows meant a great scatter afterwards meaning he had a long entertaining night ahead of him. In a word: Fun.  
"Big guns," Launchpad muttered beside him.  
"Either that or cheese presses." Steelbeak agreed, watching a few key members of the Cantankerous Cheese gang in their pin-striped suits milling about.

Steelbeak drew his attention back to the off-loading situation. "It's an on-selling scheme," he reasoned, "They're negotiating the resale."  
"You'd think they'd do that ahead of schedule, DW."  
"You're right, Launchpad, sorry. I meant 'wrangling over the finer details about the handover'."

"So what's the plan?"  
"Well, we simply ..." Steelbeak frowned, the words on page 152 of the black book looming back into his mind. "Don't let them know we're here."  
"Not at all?" Launchpad answered. "Then how do we stop them?"  
"I'm thinking, Launchpad." Steelbeak puzzled. "Oh!" He gritted, "Being a vampire-this-is-so-inconvenient!" He said, utterly infuriated.  
"Even more than the time you grew an extra four arms?"  
"Launchpad, please, I'm trying to concentrate here! Hmm ...It's okay if we 'suggest' our presence," he considered, "or even make a mock obstruction."

"There are a lot of guys with guns in there." Launchpad agreed. "I guess what we really want to do is make sure those guns don't end up where they're going."  
"Yeah, or," Steelbeak smirked, "I've got a better idea, Launchpad. The guns do get there. But they fall apart the minute anyone tries to load them with ammo."  
Launchpad gazed at him. "Can you do that, DW?"  
"Sure, Launchpad, it's a little thing I like to call 'permeation'." Steelbeak chuckled.  
"So what do we do with the party?"  
Steelbeak frowned again, "In order for that plan to work we need to wait till they leave before we go after them."  
"Okay, DW, I'll find a good take-off position for us."  
"Yeah, great idea," Steelbeak sighed, "We might be a while. Fleur's boss is a real windbag."

Having come to a resolution of what they would do, Launchpad went scouting and Steelbeak concentrated on the crates and their contents. A moment later he realised he was dealing with battery operated ray guns. That still wasn't too hard, fortunately since he had more than an entry level understanding on electronics and had put together more than his fair share of anti-Megavolt devices. Instead of disrupting the molecular structure of the cartridge chambers, he just needed to loop the discharge current back into the battery. He knew he could do it if he worked on altering one gun at a time. Then he heard his name come from nowhere and his job suddenly turned into a lot of hard work.

* * *

His mind immediately struggled to concentrate on what he was doing, the conversation he was a subject of distracting to say the least.

 _"I'm not interested in Darkwing Duck!" The feminine voice quacked indignantly. "Once upon a time in this job, the dead stayed dead and I must say I was very happy with that arrangement. He's not a vampire, so why are you fussing about that?"_  
 _"Because he works with one, Amelia, dear."_ _  
_'That woman's voice sounds familiar. Is that Sara Bellum?'  
 _"You work with corpses, he works with a vampire." She giggled. "I guess it's not too different after all."_  
'Oh that is definitely Sara Bellum.'

 _"So but is that really so bad? I mean; you guys pay them for living expenses, don't you?"_  
 _"I'm not purvey to what Director Hooter's agreement with Darkwing Duck is, or was, but the point, my dear Amelia, is that he doesn't live at all. Darkwing Duck is dead. Un-dead to be precise," Sara took a breath. "And the fact remains that this crush of yours is doing nothing to stop him."_  
'Ouch, poor Launchpad.'

 _Amelia sighed. "There must be a reason why Launchpad does what he's doing. You don't know him, Sara. I could tell just by looking at him. He's a sensitive and caring person. I can feel it. It was all there in his pretty brown eyes."_  
 _"What irrational nonsense, dear." Sara cut crisply. "Only empirical evidence like words and actions are sufficient proof on which to form a judgement. What would mother say if she heard you talking like that?" Sara sighed. "Maybe this fellow ate a lot of potato chips. That could explain his heightened fluidic conductivity."_  
'Eh? Oh, of course, they're at the coroner's office. Good, maybe now they'd stop talking about me and get back to their jobs,' he thought positively.

 _"I know!" Amelia announced brightly. "What if ... hey, what if Darkwing Duck isn't a bad vampire?"_  
'And then again, maybe they'll just keep on talking about me.'  
 _"Are you serious?" Sara was shocked, "A vampire by the very definition-."_  
 _"Aw, forget all that, Sara! People donate blood and people take transfusions every day in every hospital around the world. If you're scared of a little blood, you've got a problem in the modern world."_  
 _"I suppose you do have a point ..." Sara ruminated._  
'Oh no, that's Sara's curious voice!'  
 _"Hey, I know I have a point!" Amelia replied. "And I could ask Launchpad if I'm right as well. If you gave me his contact number, that is."_  
 _"That's Darkwing's contact number you're asking for!" Sara huffed. "It's entirely confidential and only Director Hooter's office can contact Darkwing Duck anyway."_  
'Absolutely 100% confidential!'  
 _"Right, sure. But last time Launchpad came instead. Oh, please, Sara? For me? Please?"_

 _"You can stop begging, Amelia," Sara said flatly, "I find it mildly annoying."_

Steelbeak shook his head, the conversation he had not wanted to be hearing finally faded away. By Sara's tone of voice Amelia would be getting that phone number; Darkwing Tower's phone number, to be exact.

He double checked his sabotage work on the Hiroshena's weapon shipment, making sure the distraction hadn't caused him to miss any of the ray guns. He wanted to make double sure that no one would ever be firing these guns.

Next on his agenda, was to somehow get Launchpad between him and Amelia's phone call.


	9. Ch2 P4 The Escape Tactic

**DARK** **DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Part 4**

* * *

 **The Escape Tactic**

* * *

The crime-fighting duo sat on the motorcycle, watching the silent cars parked around the warehouse. Launchpad was nodding off.

"Don't fall into too deep a sleep, LP. If you do you won't be in any condition to fight once you wake up."  
Launchpad yawned and stretched. "Hey, DW, you've been quiet all evening."  
Darkwing looked at Launchpad. "Alright, here's a question to wake you up, Launchpad: Do you think she's pretty?"  
"Oh," Launchpad chuckled. "I'm not good with twenty questions, buddy. Is who pretty?"  
"The woman you met at the coroner's office. Doctor Amelia-Sue Bellum."  
Launchpad scratched his head, struggling to think back to the visit he was supposed to have taken to the coroner's office. "When did I ...?"  
Darkwing shrugged. "It couldn't have been too long ago."  
"Gosh, DW, I really don't remember."  
Darkwing shrugged, "Never mind, Launchpad," he was quiet for a moment.

"It's been pretty hectic lately," Darkwing reasoned, "I've needed your help a whole lot with everything. I can't expect you to remember every pretty girl you talk to."  
"It's a bit of a blur." Launchpad confessed. "Where was she from?"  
"The coroner's office."  
"Huh..." Launchpad mused, starting to remember. "Oh, blonde, she was pretty, yeah."  
Darkwing was quiet again for another long minute.

"Uh, Launchpad ... Do you mind terribly in the next couple of days to take any calls down for me?"  
"Just phone calls?" Launchpad sighed in relief, not knowing how that related to anything or even how DW could've made him nervous about it in the first place. "Are you avoiding Director Hooter, DW? Coz I think he's more afraid of you than you are of him right about now."

"No, I mean, I just don't feel like ..." Darkwing hesitated. He was obviously scrabbling to save himself, and Launchpad belatedly realised he'd accidentally hit upon Darkwing's ego. "... Well, you do such a good job! I mean, you're very personable on the phone." Darkwing cleared his throat. "And well, I'm ... always a bit ... yeah, okay, I am avoiding, LP! You got me again." He blushed and turned away.

"Gee, DW, you know I'm not one to keep score." Launchpad reassured him and then let a smile through. "You really think I'm personable?"  
Darkwing blinked. "Yeah, Launchpad, I really do think that," he grinned back. "If you want, I wouldn't mind if you field Hooter's calls more often, even when I'm not in my avoiding mood."  
"I don't always say the right thing," Launchpad warned him.  
"Bah, nobody's perfect, LP. You do just fine the way you are." Darkwing turned away from Launchpad.

Now Launchpad really wasn't sure of what he was getting himself into, "Can you let me think about it, DW?"  
"Even better, Launchpad! Just try it out for the next few days. That's all I'm asking." Darkwing sounded very sure he'd made a sale. "Let's not make any irrational decisions like our friends in there." He turned back to view the building.

DW's last comment drew Launchpad's attention back to the Hiroshena case. "They've sure been in there for ages."  
"Don't worry, Launchpad, they're still in there. They're just taking their time talking about cement overshoes and fish food with respect to yours truly."

Launchpad sighed. "Why don't you wanna let them know we're here, buddy? They're sitting ducks. Are you sure' you don't want to go in there and interrupt them? You know the old: 'I am the terror'?"  
"It's just what the book says." Darkwing exhaled noisily. Even though he was wearing his mask, the disgruntlement showed on his face. "Page 152 basically says that if I make it a habit of charging in, one night I really will go poof because they'll have set a trap for a vampire and I won't have seen it coming. Vampires stay low key."  
"But don't you See these things?"  
"The book also says that my precognitive sense is sporadic and ... had something ... to do with emotions."

"Now I know that you wouldn't be out here if you were still having trouble with emotions, DW." Launchpad said firmly.  
Darkwing shrugged. "Not those sorts of emotions, Launchpad. It's true though. I didn't see Binkie coming over the other afternoon. I could really have done with a warning on that one rather than scrabbling to discreetly hide the gas grenade in the fridge like that."

Launchpad shrugged. "You're lucky she wasn't after milk."

"On the other hand she was after the peanut butter and I'd shoved that into the fridge beside the grenade." Darkwing frowned. "That was embarrassing. Sometimes I wonder what she gets up to in her kitchen, to run out of ingredients halfway through the recipe the way she does. Is she really scatterbrained or is she up to something?"  
"Nah, you're being paranoid, DW." Launchpad chuckled, "You're the one who's up to something; raiding your own kitchen for supplies." Launchpad pointed out helpfully.

"Okay, so we all know why 'I' needed the peanut butter, but why did she need the sandwich spread all of a sudden? What do you suppose she was making with so much peanut butter anyway?"  
"Could've been cookies," Launchpad licked his beak.  
"D'oh." Darkwing cursed softly to himself. "It usually is."

"So we're waiting for them to come out and then?"  
"They split up and I can terrorise these corporate terrorists for longer!" Darkwing licked his beak. "Ke-en gear!" He murmured with quiet enthusiasm as he rubbed his hands together. "I wonder how long we can drag it out for?"  
Launchpad chuckled. "Well, they won't be so mighty once they've broken up. It'll be a heck of a lot easier on my nerves." He eyed Darkwing. "But still, won't we miss a few if we're chasing after them in every which way?"

"They'll have to hide somewhere pretty special. Like a lead lined bunker buried 20,000 leagues under the sea." Darkwing grinned. "But if for some divine intervention we don't catch them tonight ..."  
"There's always tomorrow night, got it, DW."

* * *

'Finally!' Launchpad sat up straight, watching as the late night yakkers finally departed from the warehouse.

"You follow after the station wagon." Darkwing got up off the motorbike.  
"Y'not coming, DW?"  
"Nah, you handle Jeff Porkinson first while I go after Mr. 'Me boys'll make flotsam outta Darkwing Duck' Albert Ross. I want to see how tough he really is face to face." He chuckled.  
"Sure, DW," Launchpad revved the engine. "I know Porkinson's left winger. Herder's right eye is dodgy."  
"Just watch out if they start firing at you."

The station wagon drove off with the other cars but the Statesman stayed still.  
"Gee, DW, did you ..."  
"Go, Launchpad!" Darkwing said in a harried voice, "Before Ross gets wise to us!" Launchpad took off, following the station wagon.

'Spark plugs.' Launchpad frowned as he drove after Porkinson. 'I really must have been asleep not to notice DW leave to take out the Statesman's sparkplugs.'


	10. Ch2 P5 The Full Picture

**DARK** **DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Part 5**

* * *

 **The Full Picture**

* * *

Meeting followed meeting and Hooter's Monday went along as though he'd never spent an extra Saturday working back. There was never any rest for the conscientious. Across the desk from Grizlykoff sitting there, Hooter picked up his coffee mug, realised it was empty and put it down with a sigh. It was as empty as it had been an hour ago. Surely, it was time enough to discuss personnel. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Just after five. He closed the case file.

"Before we leave we really must discuss our personnel situation here at St Canard Headquarters, Assistant Director." He picked up his pencil and twirled it absentmindedly.  
"Agent Lanley," Grizlykoff frowned, "But he is still green."  
Hooter nodded, "It hasn't escaped my notice either. So considering our current personnel situation, if it isn't Agent Lanley then it really must be Doctor Bellum."  
Grizlykoff's jaw dropped in shock.

"Until," Hooter shot Grizlykoff a pointed look, "Such time as we can recruit someone more suitable." Hooter tapped his pencil onto his large notebook, "We aren't currently under review, but I cannot imagine head office would have anything remotely positive to say about our predicament. I'm not planning to retire any more than you are planning to fall ill again, but no plan survives an enemy; If we can't find ourselves successors, then S.H.U.S.H. central headquarters will do it for us." Hooter frowned, "Quite aside from the pride of handling our own affairs in a self-sufficient manner, I have no doubt they will deploy someone who is unfamiliar with not only how we operate this office, but also St. Canard itself."

"Nyet," Grizlykoff frowned, "Most unpleasant thoughts."

"I'm sure we can arrange someone better inclined to the position of Assistant Director, but in the interim, we must start training Doctor Bellum." Hooter frowned back at him. "Do try to make it sound 'not' like a punishment?"  
Grizlykoff struggled with his personal annoyance, "ach, she will not see it as anything but a punishment. Is no better if bribe with flowers."  
"Oh, now," Hooter chuckled, "Agent Bellum quite likes dissecting flowers."

* * *

There was a knock on Hooter's door.

"Yes?"  
"Sorry sir," his personal assistant Terri Smith took a step into the room. "Agent Quiota, sir; he's here to see you and he's brought someone."  
"Someone?" Hooter repeated, trying to guess from the strange expression on Terri's face. He looked back to Grizlykoff, "Have a good night, Agent." He dismissed.  
"Yes, sir, I think, I still have a few things to finish at my desk."  
Hooter nodded and Grizlykoff left the room.

"Director Hooter, sir."  
Agent Quiota, a stripy brown-white feathered quail smiled as he walked in. At least he had enough sense left to dress in regulation grey business wear. A woman beagle followed Quiota into the room. Her clothes were a mismatch of tie-dyes, a bandana over her head, large hoop earrings. She had watery grey eyes.

"I want you to meet Annie Bush." Agent Quiota introduced.  
Focusing on Annie Bush as a person, Hooter went straight to manners; "How do you do?"  
"I can tell you things of yourself. Crimes you couldn't solve. Such guilt."  
"I really don't think that will be necessary ..." In a pang of worry, he looked up at the Canadian special agent that had brought her in. Hooter wanted an explanation.  
"I see them impressed upon your soul."  
Hooter looked back at her with a start. "You read souls?"  
"I see them. I interpret them."

Hooter sat down and offered the interview chair to Annie. "Can you find lost souls and put them back?"  
"I have access to the realm. Find, certainly. Put them back, I have only done it once."  
"But you have done it." Hooter leaned forward. "What needs to happen for you to do that?"  
"I need to connect to this person. I need to meet them."  
"That doesn't seem too complicated. I think I could arrange that."

"How was this soul lost?" Annie asked.  
"It's a particularly unpleasant situation," Hooter cleared his throat. "He was turned into a vampire. I've read in some accounts that a separation happens, although it's entirely a speculative matter."  
Annie was relaxed, it seemed, about everything. "I have not encountered any vampires in my searches for lost souls."  
"None?" Hooter looked at her in surprise.  
"Perhaps I should say that they do not come to me?"

"Sir," Quiota objected, standing to the side of the table.  
Hooter looked up at him, "Yes, Agent?"  
"Vampires aren't the most trustworthy guys. You want to be friends with a savage beast, that's fine. But I don't want Annie on the receiving end of that."  
"Savage beast," Hooter blanched, "my apologies, Ms Bush." He addressed Quiota properly, "I am sure this will all come to light in your report, Agent Quiota. I have yet to read how you reached such a conclusive statement."

"I am eager to meet this 'savage beast'." Annie interrupted, "We should seek to tame its soul."  
Hooter cleared his throat. "Well and good." Without another thought, he picked up his remote and activated the videophone on the wall. It was several moments before the call went through.

"Uh, yes, what ... Director Hooter?" Launchpad said in a nervous tone, "What can ... how can I help you?"  
"Hello, Mr. McQuack." Hooter began, "I was wondering if Darkwing Duck was available to come in for a visit to headquarters?"  
"Uh, no, sorry chief, he's uh ... not up for that."  
Hooter's heart skipped, "Perhaps if he could come to the videophone? I'm sure if he heard what I ..."  
"Maybe, sir; what message can I give him?"  
"No. Thank you, Launchpad. That's quite alright." Hooter switched off the phone in shock and sank back into his chair.

"That was pretty adamant of you, sir."  
"I hardly think this argument will present itself on paper, agent." Hooter explained in disgruntlement, not even sure what had possessed him to go this far himself. It was surely a preposterous notion!  
Immediately Hooter was apologetic to his visitor. "Launchpad provides Darkwing an extreme level of protective support," he explained. "He takes phone calls; he comes in place of him. I would like to use your services, Ms Bush, but I'm afraid pinning the subject down for any soul searching seems rather unlikely after all."  
"Okay, thanks, Annie, you can wait outside." Quiota marshalled her to leave the room. "Terri's a real sweetheart. Ask and she'll get you a cup of tea for sure."  
With a casual air, Annie Bush drifted out of the room.

"Are you giving up, sir?" Agent Quiota asked as he closed the door behind her.  
Hooter sighed and took his glasses off to clean them. "I don't know, Agent. I just ... I don't have the full picture yet."  
"What about your source?"  
"My source has other concerns mixed up in all this."  
" 'Sounds complicated."  
"It is for him." Hooter answered. "He is very much at risk from multiple parties including the vampire I'm investigating. I could add an extra guard for him but it wouldn't exactly improve his chances for survival." Hooter stood up and went to his window. "And that isn't even the worst of my concerns." He turned back to Quiota, "Agent, I asked you for information 'on' vampires. Could you please explain Annie Bush?"  
Quiota frowned, "I thought she'd lend some fresh perspective to the case. In a non-meeting with your vampire kind of way. That was risky, sir, I can't believe you did that."

"I cannot imagine what has possessed you to bring her here in the first place!" Hooter returned and then rephrased his question, "Your mission was to source information on vampires. If Ms Bush has never had a vampire cross her doorstep then she is here for no informative reason. You do not think she will manage such an encounter within the realm of her profession then she is not here for any purposeful reason. Even the most variegated of independent operatives would have briefed me on the relevance they perceived Ms Bush had to their case before my discussion with her. Agent Quiota, where is your report?"

"Oh, sorry, yeah; it's not polished yet. 'Had a bad round after I got back last night."  
"Right now I will be grateful for anything you can give me." Hooter impressed on him.

From his breast pocket, the paranormal expert pulled out a plastic evidence bag with a hard covered notebook inside and put it on the table.

"Agent Quiota, dare I ask what your notebook is doing in a plastic bag?"  
"It got wet."  
"And it's a non-regulation hardcover because...?"  
"My soft cover got really chewed up. I had a lot of notes to transcribe."  
Hooter shook his head and sighed, "Alright, Agent."

"Can we get back to Annie Bush now while she's waiting out there?" Quiota asked him.  
"Frankly, I'm not sure whether I believe in souls or not," Hooter professed. "They don't particularly make an appearance in my work," he frowned. "I am primarily concerned with facts. As, indeed is the vampire I'm concerned over."  
"And I can't find any facts, sir!" Quiota objected, "It's all hearsay and no two stories are alike. Even the dictionary disagrees with the encyclopaedia; its nuts."  
Hooter raised an eyebrow. "How do they disagree?"  
"Are they lost souls or are they soulless monsters and can you tell the difference?"

Quiota stepped into the centre of the room and raised his hand to gesture the height of someone. "First glance I thought it was a condor." He mimicked a broad inland accent. "Came swooping down and I knew sure as heck it wasn't. Darn snatched that deer straight out of my crosshairs. I came up on it. I swear I didn't let off a shot and that deer was clean dead when I got there. Not a drop of blood left anywhere."

Gesturing another person's height with his other hand, Quiota started again. "Dude; we all thought it was a wolf." He mimicked a school-leaver, "Totally gate-crashed our campsite. Me and the guys all ran. I tripped up on a tree root. I was halfway up on my feet and there was this strange guy standing over me. Dressed like a park ranger. I told him about the wolf and he told me the approved camping grounds were on the other side of the river and I'd better pack up pronto. I was shouting now, telling him again about the wolf and it wasn't safe to go back. I don't remember exactly what he said next, something like 'really?' Before he changed straight into that wolf, stood there and growled at me."

"That's not a vampire." Hooter interrupted, "That's a wereduck."  
"That's what I said, but the student plain told me that he got off lightly. One of his friends at the campsite was actually bitten. The others found him back on the other side of the river fainted and took him to the hospital in the town. Heavy blood loss and only two tiny puncture wounds to account for it. Sound familiar?"

Hooter's stomach twisted. "What should a wereduck bite look like?"

Quiota snorted. "I've been in the paranormal division for ten years and I've never seen that bite mark. No one has. Of course, plenty of stories are out there. People get attacked and disappear. The next people see of them: there's another wereduck in the county. This story got me to thinking wereducks are just vampires that can shape shift."

"Let's try to focus on simple vampires, please, if there is such a thing." Hooter swallowed; "Ones that don't shape shift into wereducks."

"Right, because there's not much room to shape shift in the big towns; I thought of that, that's why I came back to St Canard; so I could check out the city vampire phenomenon." Agent Quiota crossed his arms. "So last night I found this really suspicious looking club downtown St Canard called 'Heart and Spade'. Most clubs really go for flashing signs to draw in the clientele. But not this one. I'm looking at these two bouncers. It's a bit hard getting into these clubs if you don't have arm candy, so I'm there wondering how to get myself past these bouncers..."

Seconds slid by.

Hooter was alarmed as Quiota's sentence faded incomplete. "What happened?"  
"I didn't go in," Quiota answered, "I didn't need to. I had one of those bouncers look me dead in the eye. Vampire, make no mistake. I nodded at him and turned on my heel." Quiota sat deep in thought down in the interview chair. "That's when I started thinking about fortune tellers; real ones like Annie, not those wannabes. Because staring into you is something she does for a living and that vampire staring straight into me was just like that."  
"Vampires can do what Annie does." Hooter sat down at his chair across the table from Quiota. "You left that club, but was it in time? Would you know if the bouncer bit you or not?"

Quiota thumbed behind him. "It's cool, chief, Dame Bellum cleared me on the way in. Phew, has she ever got great-."  
"Agent Quiota!" Hooter snapped at him. "Report to Assistant Director Grizlykoff. You've been out on field for a tad too long and I don't know how much that vampire has affected you but you're due for reorientation training as of right now!"  
"I'm sorry, sir, I was just-."

"Agent," Hooter cooled down, "this is a big city. There is an alien landing of some description every other month, at least one zombie rampage every year. We have sporadic trans-dimensional incursions and various major crime rings in operation. A super villain runs the lighthouse; sea serpents live just past the coastline shelf and mutant sharks prowl the bay. The addition of vampires is something S.H.U.S.H. will also find a way to manage." He paused, checking that Quiota was in fact listening to him. "The first and foremost reason that we, in this St Canard office manage all of this is our unwavering commitment to our rules, regulations, procedures and our filing system," he gazed intently at Quiota as he continued severely, "but most of all what keeps us together is our strict adherence to our code of conduct."

Agent Quiota stood up quickly. "I'll get reacquainted right now, sir."  
"Please do." Hooter nodded in relief. "I will not tolerate it again."  
"No, sir," Quiota left.

Taking a breath to relax, Hooter turned off his light and stepped outside his room, locking it behind him. Terri was sitting at her desk, Annie on the other side of the room in the left-hand waiting chair.

"Are you alright, sir?" Terri gazed up at him. "I heard you raise your voice. You never raise your voice."  
"With the matter connected to Drake Mallard." Hooter stated bluntly. "It was inappropriate to have Grizlykoff present."  
"Drake Mallard?" Annie interrupted, "you are not talking of a young man, are you? Blue eyes?" She let out a whistle, "Raging bull of a temper?"

"That's him!" Hooter exclaimed, immediately fascinated with this woman, "how do you know of him?"  
Annie smiled, "back in Swansylvania. He stayed with our caravan for a year. Or was it two?" She shook her head. "The crowd simply adored him," Annie smiled. "What do you know of him?"  
"If we're talking about the same person then he's been turned into a vampire," Terri said flatly.  
Annie's smile faded, "but that won't stop him for very long."

"I should say," Hooter interposed, "it isn't a thing that stops someone at all." Hooter mentioned grimly. "It's more the fact that they start harming people and therefore need to be stopped."  
"Drakey Mallard is a good person!" Annie was suddenly quite fiery, "I have Seen it. He proved all his teachers wrong. He will prove you wrong. Now," she lightly brushed down her psychedelic coloured skirt, no longer cross, "Since you have sent Agent Quiota away to relearn his manners, perhaps you could assist me transport back to the fairground by the bay?"

"I'll take you there." Hooter stated, "Perhaps some of your conviction will rub off on me along the way." He turned his head, "goodnight, Mrs. Smith."  
"You too, sir," Terri smiled.

Hooter gestured to the exit and led Annie to the lift feeling somewhat displaced with his visitor. She knew so much of Drake Mallard, but so little of the vampire he'd become. Hooter didn't know where to begin a conversation with Annie Bush and instead continued from the lift to his car in the underground car park in silence.

They reached his black Corgita and after letting Annie in to the passenger seat Hooter went around and sat down heavily in the driver's seat.

"You are quite distressed. What has he done?" Annie finally broke Hooter's stare out at the cement wall in front of them.  
"There is evidence." Hooter sighed and started the engine to reverse the car. "I suppose there's no harm to tell you. The state of being a vampire has compromised him. There is evidence that he's bitten someone."  
"I know very little about vampires." Annie stated, "Was the person a bad person?"  
Hooter frowned as he changed gears, "That doesn't make a terrible lot of difference." He manoeuvred up the ramp to the exit. "It's a criminal action regardless of the victim."  
Annie countered, "Drakey wouldn't have chosen to be a vampire any more than he would carry a gun."  
"I'm not sure of what that has to do with the matter as it stands."

They were shortly on the road heading for the showground by the bay.

"To be truthful, I'm rather concerned for his mindset," Hooter said sadly.  
"There is very little to wonder about," Annie said calmly. "Drakey spent years on making his temper work for him. He crossed whole mountain ranges on foot to learn his disciplines. He would do so again."  
"Certainly if he at all resembles his former self such a practical approach would befit him."

Hooter eventually slowed down to the showground, parked and turned off his engine.

"Since you knew him so well, could you find his soul if it was lost?"  
"Surely," she answered, "few burn so brightly."  
Hooter's phone buzzed. "Excuse me." He stepped out of the car and closed his door as he answered the call, "Agent Grizlykoff?"  
 _"Sir," Grizlykoff answered. "I have report that F.O.W.L. have broken into prison and Agent Steelbeak is removed."  
_ "We knew this would eventually occur." As he headed around the car, Hooter noticed a nearby car park floodlight washing the cement in a blue hue. At least Steelbeak wouldn't have the blue lights shining on him tonight. "Alert our surveillance teams." He stated as he reached Annie's door. "There is simply no telling of how any of this will turn out at this stage. We have to be ready to move in expeditiously."  
 _"Yes sir. I will see our units will be ready."_  
"Thank you, agent," Hooter hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He opened Annie's door and helped her out.

"I'm terribly sorry that we've kept you out after dark. Let me walk you in."  
"That's very kind." Annie replied and they headed through the unmanned gates and on through the ring of caravans.

Two large cats with thick collars and bristling fur opened their discerning eyes to study Hooter as he passed by with Annie.

"That's Ernie and Greg." Annie said with quiet calm.  
"How tame are they?" Hooter inquired with curiosity as they headed to Annie's wagon. In the gloom from the flood lamps, he saw mystical pictures painted over the wood although he couldn't make out much.  
"It all depends on who they're dealing with." She turned to him before reaching the step. "I can see they don't trouble you."  
"How did Drakey handle them?"  
Annie laughed and opened her door, "Oh, Drakey. He was always up to something. Come in and I will find him."

Hooter stepped up into the caravan and Annie got him to take a seat at the crowded in table. The show wagon smelt heavily of incense and a large blown glass ball took up the centre of the small circular table. Annie lit up an incense stick and sat down across the table from Hooter, a look of concentration replacing the glassy calm on her face. "Drake Mallard," she murmured. "You are nearby."

* * *

 _A/n: Various educational references from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Thank you Joss Whedon._


	11. Ch2 P6 Brick Wall

**DARK DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Part 6**

* * *

 **The Brick Wall Syndrome**

* * *

There was nothing really odd about the surprise visit from her boyfriend, but his overall excited state had Morgana properly confused. After a fast walk into the nearby graveyard, Morgana was sure he needed to tell her something.

"Dark, darling." Morgana tried to pin her boyfriend down. "Won't you spare a moment for a cup of tea?"  
"Oh, Morg." He replied with apologetic affection, "I haven't had a chance to think about the defence sphere properly since we last talked about it." He stopped walking and turned to her, "I've got to get on it. Now, while Steelbeak is distracted."  
"Oh, very well then, Dark." Morgana accepted and glanced at the lovely gravestones her boyfriend's parents had. "What about the Justice Ducks?"  
"Well ..." He started in a tiny voice. "Maybe Neptunia ... I don't know. She's hard-boiled enough for the job I guess but she's not really in the loop and it takes a while for her to warm up."  
Morgana tamped down her temper and tried to be subtle. "Then there's Gizmoduck."  
"That can of motor oil!" He growled, crossing his arms, "No way."  
"Oh, Dark, give him a chance. He might be a good choice in the end."  
"I'll ... think about it. I'll think about the real reason that he isn't a good idea." He added in a sullen tone.

Morgana clasped her hands together, imagining the duck turned dinosaur of the team, "What about Stegmutt?"  
"Stegmutt!" Darkwing exclaimed, "Someone that innocent's certainly not in this game. I'm worried enough about Launchpad as it is."  
"Alright." Morgana gritted, "So then there's myself and Gosalyn."  
"Correction, Morgana." Darkwing swung around and gazed sadly up at her, "right now there is 'only' you and Gosalyn. You two are all I've got." He grasped the brim of his hat with both hands. "Everything about this scares me."  
Now Morgana was sorry for her temper. "Have you told her yet?"  
Darkwing stopped and gazed down at the gravestones. "Nah, it's old news for her; she doesn't need telling. What she does need is to pass her school tests, though." He said, switching topics with barely a breath between them. "She's smart but she can't seem to commit it to paper." He rubbed his face. "D'oh, that's 'my' problem. She's supposed to be learning from my mistakes, not getting foiled at all the same turns."  
"I might be able to help," Morgana offered; "I stayed locked in a tower for three months for my finals."  
Darkwing was startled; "You think locking Gosalyn up in a tower is a good idea, Morgana? What kind of parenting technique do you call that?"  
"My father's! And I most certainly do not approve of it!" Morgana responded frostily. "I was simpl-."  
"Oh, thank goodness! Phew, for a moment there you had me worried. Um ... so what did you mean?"  
"I was supp-o-sing ..." Morgana calmed herself, "that I could teach her what I learnt while 'I' was up in the tower."  
"That's fabulous, Morg!" Darkwing beamed at her and Morgana's heart melted on the spot. "You'd be perfect. You two get along great."  
Morgana blushed.

"So we could add Neptunia in at a stretch." Darkwing sighed as he settled back into the previous topic. "Now I'm worrying about Neptunia too. It still doesn't work with three. And what is your father's issue anyway?"

"Uh, control." Morgana blinked.  
"Well, obviously, but-"  
"Oh, never mind the history lesson, Dark!" She snapped, not wanting him to add in yet another topic to their already frantic conversation. "What about Doctor Bushroot for making your plan work?"  
"Bushroot?" He repeated, "But he's ... he's ..."  
"Made of wood." Morgana answered, "you are aware of that little fact?"  
"Yeah." He mused, "not only that but his high Atropine content makes him none too edible. But there's a real problem with him, Morgana."  
"Yes, because he's a criminal. I'm already ahead of you." She put her hands on her hips.  
"No," he shook his head, "because I've gone over his psychosis with a fine tooth comb."  
"Oh, but you've done that with everyone, Dark. That's our disadvantage." Morgana smiled gently.  
"None-the-less," Darkwing replied.  
"No 'nonetheless' about it, Darkwing," Morgana stated firmly. "It's all part of the job. So, let's make a start with Doctor Bushroot."  
"Alright." Darkwing grunted, "so we have a criminal plant-duck. Not exactly a supreme fit for the job description."  
"I propose we capitalise on his animosity!" Morgana declared with definition; "It would prove just as effectual."

There was a beat and Darkwing swung around to face her again. "B-but I don't want him to hate me, Morg! I'm trying to get Bushroot to break his criminal mindset. The only way I can do that, short of a blue moon, is to-."  
"Dark!" She exclaimed, "it's wonderful that you want to help Doctor Bushroot, but we really need to focus on creating that defence sphere right now."  
"Yes, yes, of course." Darkwing rubbed his head. "It's probably a good idea to stop here, Morg. I'll work with Launchpad on training Bushroot up." He looked up at her. "If you could have a night in with Gosalyn and get her focusing on studying for that chemistry test somehow that'd be great."  
Morgana smiled. "Certainly, Dark. Will you come inside for a cup of tea now?"  
"If you don't mind me a little distracted by Steelbeak, Morg, that'd be wonderful." He offered her his arm.

* * *

The crystal ball went hazy and the picture lost out.

Hooter sighed and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. Hearing Darkwing talking about Steelbeak as a 'distraction' was distressing. This was the same Steelbeak reduced to a nervous wreck, who could barely contain himself when a particular variety of light bulb was shining on him. There was no question that Darkwing was tempestuous like a boiler and as relentless and unyielding as a locked door.  
"Director Hooter?"

"He's creating a defence sphere," Hooter repeated the name of the plan. "With people."  
"Is it so wrong for him to ask for help?" Annie questioned.  
Hooter looked up at her through his blurred vision. "Asking is a very different thing from arrogantly assuming authority as he has done with Steelbeak."  
"That's fortunate," Annie replied, "Or Steelbeak might think he didn't have it."

"Where on earth did you ..." Hooter put his glasses back on and gazed at Annie in shock. "Forgive me, but arrogance is a symptom of he who thinks himself learned."  
"In the ring," Anne replied simply, "One must act the part, even if he makes a mistake." Annie frowned. "I'm very sorry."  
Hooter leant back against the vinyl cushion behind him. "No, that's alright. You are right. I should consider his recount of the story in equal fairness." He sighed, thinking over the brief conversation with Launchpad McQuack earlier, "If only I could ask him to tell me."


	12. Ch2 P7 Dilemma

**DARK DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Part 7**

* * *

 **The F.O.W.L. Dilemma**

* * *

Steelbeak looked warily around the dinged up bed-sitter in downtown St Canard. He looked at the litter of eggmen from the jailbreak. "It's a start." He commented neutrally and turned away from them. The trick was where he was going with it.

The phone on the table rang. Steelbeak looked at it with misgivings. "Already?" He asked himself in personal horror.

"Whatever you reckon," he mustered his courage and picked up the call.  
The screen lit up, a background behind the familiar silhouettes of his employers.  
"Agent Steelbeak, we trust you're settling in."  
"Hey, you know me." He smiled grandly at them, puffing out his chest. It was just like stepping into an old pair of loafers. "You need something I can do for you?"

"We have been informed that you have been in discussions with S.H.U.S.H. Director Hooter."  
"Nothing doing. The arresting officers back in Quack Quong roughed me up a bit much," Steelbeak shrugged, "Old Hooter likes keeping his ducks in a row."  
"Perhaps we could capitalise on it."  
"Yeah, that's my plan in a nutshell." Steelbeak grinned with what he hoped was a wicked rather than a manic expression. Hooter was practically his last hope.

The F.O.W.L. committee in the shadows answered. "Meanwhile we would like you to do a simple job for us and it is already set up. We want you to intercept a shipment of freeze dried reconstituted potato chips and transport them to their new destination. The details are in your new iPhone."  
"Sure thing, F.O.W.L. Steelbeak over and out."

Steelbeak froze with his hand around the iPhone. "I' got a job to do." He turned the screen on and looked through the job details. "Steal the potatoes, extract the potassium, and power the latest hold-the-world-to-ransom F.O.W.L. toy." Steelbeak put his hand to his head. "Alright, who cued the headache?" He grumbled. "Come on, boys. Time don't wait for no man. Let's go inform the suckers they have a new buyer."

Steelbeak wondered over his headache. Did Darkwing know what he was up to? If so, was he going to crash the party early?

* * *

Steelbeak cradled his head. When they climbed out of the car, he had barely enough sense to point at the potato truck offloading to the chipping factory. "Someone g-get me an a-aspirin!" He begged the nearest eggman. "Un-unb-believable!" Steelbeak tried to see the truck and the eggmen intercepting the workers. "S-some-someone ... hit-hit ..." He closed his eyes and spun away, instead looking out onto the street. His head came a bit clearer of the splitting pain.

"Here, boss."

Steelbeak grabbed the pain relief from the first aid eggman and swallowed the bottle water with it. He continued to stare out onto the street, wishing the resounding pounding to vamoose. Something caught his attention. Uniforms. S.H.U.S.H. had spotted them and were closing in. Steelbeak could get Hooter's help ... his headache began to ease. He turned shakily back to the truck transfer. "Th-that helps." He said, watching the unsuspecting eggmen. None of them knew about the S.H.U.S.H. pose closing in.

Steelbeak opened his mouth to say something and his headache returned with such vengeance his vision turned blue, blurring.

"Boss, you don't look well."

"My head. It feels like I got ..."

* * *

 _Steelbeak's head was spinning in the blue light. The sound of humming engines was in his ears; he was in the F.O.W.L. hovercraft. He realised that the vampire had released him. "I thought," Steelbeak took a breath willing the dizziness to stop, "thought you were gonna ..."_

 _"I'm not making any promises." Darkwing pulled out a set of handcuffs and latched them onto his wrists. 'I wish I could make these promises,' Darkwing mused as he pulled Steelbeak to a stand and regarded him. 'Who would have guessed that you would be good for something, Steelbeak?'_

 _"W-what do you mean by that? Good for what? You want something, I got no problems helping you out if it'll get you outta my ... my ..." Steelbeak stared at Darkwing's motionless beak, realising he hadn't spoken ... "head."_

* * *

"We have you surrounded." Another familiar voice boomed, snapping Steelbeak out of his memories. It took another moment for Steelbeak to recognise Grizlykoff's ugly mug glowering at him. "Do not try to resist or you will be met with maximum force."

Oil painting he wasn't, but the S.H.U.S.H. agent was no Darkwing Duck either.  
"Eh, so you got me," Steelbeak put his hands up in relief. His headache fading to a dull reminder as the grey suits handcuffed him and put him and the working eggmen into their wagon.

It wasn't long at all and Steelbeak was sitting in one of the standard sized interview rooms in the heart of S.H.U.S.H. headquarters. Far away from F.O.W.L., and any acts of retribution from them.

Agent Grizlykoff stepped into the room and pulled out his file. "Now we begin: what your plan with potato is?"  
Steelbeak rolled his eyes at Grizlykoff. "Eh, alright, 'koff, I'll lay it level with you. And you better listen tight coz I'm only going to tell you once." Steelbeak sat forward in his chair. "I ain't talking to nobody but Hooter 'bout nothing." Steelbeak relaxed back in his chair. "You get me, pal?"  
Grizlykoff stared back at him. "I will see if the Director is available but I make no promises."

Steelbeak merely shrugged and looked away to the window high up to his right.


	13. Ch2 P8 Under the Cover Of

**DARK** **DUCK**

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Part 8**

 **Under the** **Cover Of**

* * *

Darkwing Tower was like a remnant from an old castle. The glow of St Canard's night sky filtered in through the open windows, washing the stonework in sombre shades of blues and purples. In the near corner, the two armchairs spun in a dizzying moment, bringing the appearance of Launchpad. He flicked on the lamp by the setting as he passed. The light brought some warm amber to the nearby shadows.

As far as acting receptionist and taking messages went, it was a ladder climbing exercise. Launchpad went up the ladder to DW's giant computer terminal, wondering what had possessed DW from palming off this nothing job. Between cases, Darkwing Duck could go for weeks without getting any calls from Hooter, and that was before he'd become a vampire.  
"I think I'll tell DW, that ..." He blinked at the blinking light. It was a message! "Hey, what'd'ya know? Guess I spoke too soon. Wonder what Hooter wants." He sat down in DW's high-backed computer chair and pressed the button.

"Hi, uh, Launchpad."

The woman duck's blonde hair glowed in the light of the computer screen as she sat at her computer. Launchpad struggled to remember from where he knew her from. Gosh, she really was pretty. The little label that read "Coroner's Office" on her crisp, white lab coat was a little disturbing, however. For some reason the idea of pencils swam in his mind.

"You ... might not remember me..."  
"It did take me a little bit." He blushed.  
"...But my name's Amelia Bellum. You came in investigating some homicides about a week or so ago... Um ... we didn't actually ... talk so much as ..." She blushed. "I'm sorry for calling you on this number, but I didn't know of any other way of getting in touch with you."  
He shrugged. "It happens."  
"Anyway, I just ... would you like to meet up?"

Launchpad jumped in the chair. "Wh-what?"

"That is, if you're interested. I mean, uh ... My cell phone number is ..."  
'What? Oh gosh!' "Wait, what's the number again?" Launchpad looked wildly around the console as she ran off numbers at him but the pens and the papers were all down the ladder and tucked neatly in DW's top desk drawer. "D'oh!"

"Actually, you pilot types don't go much on paperwork, do you? You probably don't have a pencil or piece of paper and I don't want to wait around for weeks wondering whether you might return this call."  
"No, no wait!" Launchpad felt stricken.  
"So how about we just meet up on Friday ... around seven at the Hungry Hippo on the corner of Marsh and Fourth?"  
"You like Hungry Hippo?" He gazed at the blonde duck on the view screen.

"If you can't make it then but you still want to meet up sometime, I guess you could just replay this message when you want my number."  
"Oh!" He slapped his forehead. "Now, why didn't I think of that?"  
Her recorded image smiled sweetly at him. "Well, see you then."

And the video message ended, the screen went off.

* * *

"Oh, gosh, Amelia..."

Launchpad slipped down the ladder, barely catching his fall. He drifted over to the ThunderQuack. "Hey, old girl ..." He smiled dreamily, memories of flying mixing in with the soft vision of Amelia. He really hadn't had much in the way of dates since he'd joined up with DW. Night shift and dark alleys really weren't the best places to pick up girls, not like his last job with Mr. McDuck. Girls tended to hang out at airports and piers, watching the planes or speedboats come and go.

"Hey, Launchpad?"

"Huh?" A million miles away, it took Launchpad a moment to recognise the owner of the voice. He turned around, "yeah ... DW?"  
"I was just talking with the white coats on X3," Darkwing came over, showing him a vial of stuff as he spoke engaged in his thoughts, "You know, at Hamil Corp, and ... Uh ... you're in a good mood today." Darkwing halted with his observation, raising an eyebrow. "We could talk later if you like."

"No, go ahead, buddy."  
"Okay," Darkwing instantly continued on, "So d'you remember how I was telling you about how Ducker tried to con me with this?"  
"Yeah. You said that Megavolt and Bushroot thought it smelt really bad."  
"It's not that bad!" A little chaffed, Darkwing looked away and put it back in his breast pocket.

"Sure, not for a vampire. It's okay, DW." Launchpad reassured him.  
"Um ..." Darkwing hesitated. "So anyway, I've just found out where we can start our investigation. It turns out that there is only one place on the planet that makes this stuff."  
"Gee! Only one? That stuff must cost like diamonds or crystals."  
"You are very correct, Launchpad. It's about five thousand bucks for this much of it."

"Except that one's spoilt?"  
"Exactly. And I want to know why that is. Wanna take the ThunderQuack for a nice long ride? I'd love your backup on this one."  
"Sure, DW ... Uh, wait." Launchpad hesitated, "I'm not really ..." He blanched, "will we be dealing with many vampires at this place?"

"I shouldn't think so, LP. There's just an elderly Ergowth lady that lives up in the foothills all alone." He pulled a face "besides; any vampires up there will be after this stuff; not you."  
Launchpad was relieved. "So, when did you want to do go?"  
"According to my calculations, Wednesday is the day I need to go. Is that a problem?"  
"We'll be back before Friday night?" Launchpad ask for confirmation.  
DW chuckled. "At the speeds you like to fly TQ at? Absolutely!"

Launchpad beamed. "Hey, it's a date."


	14. Ch2 P9 Stool Pigeon

_A/n: If you don't want to insult anyone, try insulting everyone. Then get over it._

* * *

 **DARK** **DUCK**

* * *

 **The Greatest Heist There Never Was**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Part 9**

 **Stool Pigeon**

* * *

Hooter stepped out of the lift and discovered the entire S.H.U.S.H. office in a flurrying rush for a late Monday night. He rubbed his head and decided coffee would be an excellent start. Er, restart.  
"Director!"  
Hearing Grizlykoff's voice, Hooter turned for a moment to him, "Why don't you join me in the tea room, Agent Grizlykoff?" He suggested and continued on.

"Sir," Grizlykoff stated over the sound of the industrial sized urn. "We have Agent Steelbeak in our custody."  
"Yes, Agent..." Hooter stifled a yawn, "which is precisely why I have returned to the office. Perhaps you could tell me a bit more of the circumstances surrounding his recapture ..." Hooter looked to the coffee granules at the bottom of his cup, recalling the fallacy of S.H.U.S.H.'s success in the matter as far as Steelbeak himself was concerned, "as it were."  
"Nyet, sir, it is all standard procedure. Although we cannot kid selves; it was far too easy. Minion say he was in complaint of headache. I do not believe."

Hooter waited till his cup was full of hot liquid and he'd taken a hefty sniff of caffeine before he carried on the conversation.

"You suppose Agent Steelbeak is plotting something, then, Agent Grizlykoff?"  
"Ya, sir," Grizlykoff's eyes glittered. "He is using us in some way. I have bad feeling in bones."  
Hooter stirred his drink, sniffing appreciatively before adding a dash of cold water to it. "I suppose then his headache has rather calmed down sufficiently that he can do such plotting?"  
"Calm, sir?" Grizlykoff grumbled, "He crosses his arms and sits back in chair; 'Nein, I shall speak only to Director Hooter.' This is how calm he is."  
"Ah!" Hooter happily said. He took a tentative sip of his piping hot drink. "That is excellent news."  
"Sir!" Grizlykoff objected, "Perhaps you are not yet sufficiently awake. Are we really to give immoral F.O.W.L. agent what he wants?"  
"The matter Agent Steelbeak wishes to discuss with me has very little to do with F.O.W.L., Agent Grizlykoff. There are other more significant plots at hand. I am glad he has availed himself of my invitation to discuss it further with me."

Grizlykoff's face drained of colour. "You say corrupt Agent Steelbeak has finger in more apple pie."  
"Yes, Agent; that is exactly what this is about." Hooter saw Grizlykoff's pallid face and worriedly put his cup down on the sideboard, "Grizlykoff, are you feeling alright?"  
"Ya, I'm fine, sir." Grizlykoff rubbed his forehead.  
"Perhaps you should call for Doctor Bellum. I'd rather you not fall into a relapse," Hooter advised and decisively picked up his cup, "What room have we put him in?"  
"Interview room three."  
"Very well, I shall get my file notes." Hooter stepped past Grizlykoff. "Don't be too concerned, Grizlykoff, I am handling this case personally."  
"That is my concern, sir; your safety."  
Hooter turned around for a moment back to Grizlykoff. "I doubt you should be overly concerned with my welfare either, Agent, but thank you."

* * *

All along the way to Hooter's office, his feathers prickled at the question Grizlykoff had raised. Indeed, how bad might this situation get before Hooter himself became caught in it? Somewhere he'd read that vampires often began their rampage with the people they knew. In the conversation with Morgana Macawber that Annie Bush had let Hooter in on, Darkwing was already looking outwards to Neptunia. Hooter unlocked his door and undid the outer and inner locks on his cabinet beneath the bookshelves. There in the drawer were his notes on the case he could not let Grizlykoff in on.

Presently, Darkwing was avoiding any communication with Hooter, so it hardly seemed likely that they would cross words; much less swords. As he crossed the busy office down to the interview rooms with his coffee, Hooter decided his instincts were right.

* * *

Interview room three was a standard box size, seating four at the table and a walking space on three sides with a two way mirror for the large internal window. A narrow horizontal window to the outside high on the opposite wall was barely size enough to allow a coffee cup to freedom. The real difference to the prison interview rooms was that S.H.U.S.H.'s interview rooms had clean white walls and a pleasant pine wood finish to the table. Hooter noticed the lamp fixed to the table lit up the room with a warm yellow glow.

Across on the far side of the table Steelbeak sat, his brow was furrowed; a tense, hooded look on his face. Seeing Hooter come in through the door Steelbeak forced himself to give a show of relaxed calm. "Hey; you made it. I've been here wondering if your brick wall'd let you through."

Hooter cleared his throat as he shut the door behind him. He laid out his coffee and his folder on the table. Steelbeak's continued attempts at brevity really were commendable.

"I am sorry that you have found yourself in such a fragile position." Hooter sat down across the way from Steelbeak. "I do not believe there are any leaks in my department at the present time however you are not the subject of my investigation and for that matter neither is F.O.W.L. As it might jeopardise your personal safety amongst your peers, I will keep your specific personal information off the record."  
"Thanks for the favour." Steelbeak gratefully relaxed a fraction and he looked down at Hooter's cup. "Any chance me getting a coffee too?"  
Considering Steelbeak's sporadically excited mental state, Hooter counter-offered; "I could perhaps arrange a decaf."  
"Eh, don't bother then," Steelbeak rolled his eyes.  
Hooter cleared his throat. "You've had quite some time to think this over," he started, "going back to your arrest: what exactly is it that has you deeply troubled about the incident you had?"

* * *

With or without Steelbeak's help, it seemed to him that Hooter's collection of file notes were a lot thicker than the last time he saw it.

"It was something he said that's got me really rattled."  
"Something he told you?"  
"Said I was ..." Steelbeak's voice caught in his throat. "You gotta understand; they ain't just words. Not when he says them the way he just plain knows 'em. We're talking death row type conviction here."

The old bird's keen eyes glinted at him as he watched Steelbeak. "Perhaps this would be easier for you?" Hooter slid a notebook and a pen across the table to him.  
Steelbeak stared at the paper. Provide evidence that could get back to F.O.W.L.? He pushed the fateful implements away. "If anybody asks, I'm gonna deny it." He said frostily.  
"Very well; what did he call you, Steelbeak?"

Swallowing, Steelbeak leaned in forwards, keeping his voice down out of the guards hearing. " 'Good for something'." He sank back into his chair with his face in his hands, feeling himself shudder. "Honest truth is I'm scared of falling asleep and find him come for me again." He looked back up at Hooter. "Only I do fall asleep and in that cell room I wake up and everything is the colour blue like his eyes. Glowing and colouring everything blue." Steelbeak sighed wearily. "You've got your list of monsters you see, and this new one ain't got no problems fitting in with the other pointed tooth fairies at the top of the list. If he weren't already halfway there ... bad gum, I seriously shot the wrong guy." He rubbed his eyes.

"Did he in any way express what brought him to say this about you?"  
"Nah; he let it slip, see," Steelbeak explained, "Coz he's new at it. I reckon I'm in the know on a lot of things with a G-clamp on my beak for my trouble."  
Hooter cleared his throat. "Let's return to the reason of why you are still alive, Steelbeak. Your usefulness, as it were."

Steelbeak blanched, "I plain don't know why I'm still alive!" He confessed, feeling another echo of the memory and reflexively put his hand up to his neck. "And that's the worst of it. He ain't told me what he wants. Heck, if I only knew! I'd fix him up straight away and then I'd get gone." He buried his face in his hands again. "I don't know when he's going to yank my chain and I don't know what it'll be for. He's making me a total nutcase keeping me in the dark. The last time I ever had this kind of headache was when my beak got smashed in. What did I do to cop that I wanna know?"

* * *

Again Hooter cleared his throat, thinking better of reminding Steelbeak of the potato truck incident. " 'Good for something' does seem a rather oblique reference."  
Steelbeak looked up. "If I get a repeat on tonight, F.O.W.L. will have my feathers plucked."  
"One would imagine our state prisons were secure enough to protect you from your new entrapment... As it were."  
"Oh, sure. Real safe," Steelbeak guffawed at Hooter. "Kinda like pulling a blanket over your head while you're campin' out in a snow storm."  
"It's true that to date your tenancy periods under guard here have been somewhat fleeting and insubstantial."  
Steelbeak shrugged weakly. "It ain't exactly up to me."

"The blizzard notwithstanding," Hooter sat back, "you are with us here at the moment. Perhaps you could do to give me as much assistance as you can."  
"I ain't given you enough?"  
"You clearly don't have a grasp of his plans that involve you." Hooter began, "but he has still other plans involving other people. I have some indication that it is alarmingly significant. What is this vampire plotting?"

Steelbeak closed his eyes for a time as though searching through his memories; his daydreams, his nightmares. He opened his eyes and considered Hooter. "He's sure been planning something but he's been real quiet about it so long as he knows I'm listening in on it."  
"Might his mind not wander when he's asleep?"  
"I'm telling you that ain't so great either. All you got is a big old mess with a river of blood running through it," he shuddered.  
Such alarming imagery incensed Hooter. "You've actually seen this river of blood?"  
Steelbeak was grim; "I ain't having you on. It plumb washed away me, the house and everything."

"I need something practical to go on with. I do not want to chase him endlessly. I want to get in front of this vampire and cut him off," Hooter declared his front-line objectives.  
Steelbeak stared at Hooter. "That idea is nuts! Even if you did get in front of him the most you'll do by getting yourself into it is tick him off."  
Hooter returned Steelbeak's gaze. "I want to know what he's up to." He enforced, "If I do manage to rile him, at least then I'll be able to get a glimpse of his plans."  
"Hey, you got a point." Steelbeak chuckled nervously, "You've got a real chance at this! I'm your windbreaker. Whatever you do he's only gonna swing right round on me for it. By the time he gets to you he'll have calmed down."

"Oh, really, Steelbeak," Hooter heatedly rebuked him, "your self-absorption is getting markedly tedious!"  
"My life is dangling here!" Steelbeak objected. "If I get a headache like that again in the middle of a job-."

"If not for the criminal nature of what you were doing you would not have had the headache!" Hooter snapped down at him in annoyance, "As such I have no sympathy for you whatsoever. Of all the machinations of your situation the question you must answer is in fact simplicity itself. Do you prefer the wrath of F.O.W.L. or the vengeance from your other unnameable fate?"

There was a long pause as Steelbeak thought over Hooter's words of advice. Hooter managed quite a few swallows of his coffee in the interim.

Steelbeak looked over to the vague direction of the door. "I cain't be beat yet. There's gotta be another way outta this. I just cain't think of it yet."  
"Well," Hooter wasn't so upset anymore, "if you must necessarily be selfish then at least you might muster your imagination to the task." Sitting back in his chair, Hooter finished the last sip of his coffee.

"Which opposing force has more give in it, Steelbeak?"  
"Sheesh," Steelbeak stared at him. "Like a brick wall has more give in it than a cement wall."  
"Yes," Hooter nodded, "A brick wall. Since you are alive at all there must be some preferential reason over you being dead and this is the thing you need to understand in order to progress any further." Hooter stood up. "I'll arrange a sleeping arrangement here for you. That may at least deter F.O.W.L. from getting you into any more sticky situations for a brief while at least. A double blanket, as it were."  
"Y-yeah," Steelbeak gulped. "Thanks. You know something?"  
"What is that?"  
"You're still a hard-beaked copper, Hooter."  
"Merely an old pair of shoes," Hooter replied and left the room, feeling he was perhaps a little too chuffed by the compliment.

* * *

 **Chapter End**

 **Next Chapter: Darkwing Moves Ahead.**


End file.
